What Ends Well: The Friendship of Knaves
by Surreptitious Chi X
Summary: Jarlaxle awakes to find that Artemis had just started his escape plan. Their only chance: to flee through the magical door Entreri saw when they were captured by the sorceress Tandy. Jarlaxle is still weak. Will Entreri remain partners with him? NO ENDING
1. Chapter 1: Help and Hope

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

_Where on that scale does Artemis Entreri lie, I wonder? Is the man truly beyond help and hope? _

_Yes, to the former, I believe, and no to the latter. There is no help for Artemis Entreri because the man would never accept any. His greatest flaw is his pride – not the boasting pride of so many lesser warriors, but the pride of absolute independence and unbending self-reliance. I could tell him his errors, as could anyone who has come to know him in any way, but he would not hear my words. _

_Yet perhaps there may be hope of some redemption for the man. I know not the source of his anger, though it must have been great. And yet I will not allow that the source, however difficult and terrible it might have been, in any way excuses the man from his actions. The blood on Entreri's sword and trademark dagger is his own to wear._

_He does not wear it well, I believe. It burns at his skin as might the breath of a black dragon and gnaws at all that is within him. I saw that during our last encounter, a quiet and dull ache at the side of his dark eyes. I had him beaten, could have killed him, and I believe that in many ways he hoped I would finish the task and be done with it, and end his mostly self-imposed suffering._

_That ache is what held my blade, that hope within me that somewhere deep inside Artemis Entreri there is the understanding that his path needs to change, that the road he currently walks is the one of emptiness and ultimate despair. Many thoughts coursed my mind as I stood there, weapons in hand, with him defenseless before me. How could I strike when I saw that pain in his eyes and knew that such pain might well be the precursor to redemption? And yet how could I not, when I was well aware that letting Artemis Entreri walk out of that crystalline tower might well spell the doom of others?_

(236-237)

**Chapter 1**

Help and Hope

--------------------------

His supple, youthful body gleamed in the soft lights of the bathing chamber. Small blue lights danced in the warm, still air. One landed on his nose. It was warm. He closed his eyes and smiled, delighting in the feeling.

"Come closer."

He cocked his head, opening his eyes. "Yes, Matron."

Except for her face, she was completely submerged under the shining water in the pool. She smiled at him.

He walked further into the pool, the rough stone harsh on his bare feet. The bath was naturally formed and fed by a hot spring. Sweet smells of bathing salts mixed with steam to float through the air.

She was across the pool. "Come closer." She beckoned him with a finely formed hand.

He waded into the pool up to his neck, long hair floating around him.

"You are tall." She seemed pleased.

He knew he was tall for a boy his age. He'd just never had anyone compliment him for it before. His sisters had always seemed disgusted. The smile on her lips made faint heat rise to his cheeks. "Yes, Matron."

"Come closer."

He half-walked, half-swam through the pool until he stood beside her. The slow, laughing ripple of the water sang in his ears. They were almost the same height. She rested on an outcropping of rock that elevated her a couple inches above him.

"Do you know what _vith _is?"

"No…"

The water rippled around her shoulders as she reached through the water. Her hand touched the organ between his legs.

He shivered.

"Is something wrong?" Her eyes took on a predatory look.

He felt his body tense up with dread at the painful knowledge awaiting him. That look never meant anything good. It was the look in his sisters' eyes when they promised pain. "No, Matron."

Her hand moved.

Sensations, none like he had ever experienced, vibrated through him. He was shivering. He moaned despite himself. His head rolled back, eyes half closed, and his hands felt weak, numb. He could suddenly feel his heart beating inside his chest. He was gasping for air, as if the air around them had turned into some substance he couldn't breathe. Yet, in the midst of these alarming physical changes were sharp jolts of feeling in his groin. Pleasure. The unexpectedness of it invoked more fear than if he had been sweating in agony.

"What is it, little one?"

He panted, too confused to reason much more than that she had called him that because of his youth. She was a century older than he.

"Speak."

His legs trembled. He didn't know what was happening to him. Her fingers didn't stop their lazy motions. "That feels good."

"Does it?"

"Uh….Uh-huh."

"How about this?"

Her fingers started squeezing, and he almost fell to his knees. "M-M-Matron…" Deep overwhelming feelings of needles jabbed his groin and pure, adrenaline-like ecstasy intoxicated him.

Then her hand started moving up and down. He lost all feeling in his limbs. His body was moving around, thrashing, and he couldn't control it. He'd lost control to his sisters many times, over many different things, but he'd never lost control this way. He was frightened enough to sob. It was humiliating, and unfamiliar. Tears of sheer terror at his helplessness rolled down his cheeks. "Let go, let go, let go –" Her hand clenched tight enough to crush him.

He screamed.

Jarlaxle woke up, struggling, swathed in the rich bedding of the room where he'd laid, silent and unconscious, for a week. It all came back to him in one rush of desperation and keen clarity.

He'd been tossing and turning in uneasy reverie, unable to escape from his body coping with his grave injuries. A dozen nightmare-tinted memories of struggling to wake up with people coming and going around him mingled together. Jarlaxle felt his stomach tighten in dread.

He had to get up.

He pushed the layers of silk covers away, scrambling out of the four poster bed. His legs shook, but he felt power and surety returning to his limbs. He flexed his arms, and looked around for something to dress himself in.

There was nothing.

He stumbled to the dresser, heart racing, and tore through the drawers. Nothing of his – only a pair of pale gray shirts and threadbare brown trousers. Without a thought, he pulled them on.

A flash of color caught the corner of his eye as he dressed. He turned. His hat, hanging on a coat rack. Heart hammering in disbelief, he snatched the intact hat and put it on, adjusting it in a full length mirror across the room before he could stop himself. Even his red diatryma feather was in its full glory. He walked up to the mirror, touching his face and his hat to make sure it was real.

"I don't understand this," he whispered.

Artemis burst in through the door. "Come on, we have to go," he said harshly. He grabbed Jarlaxle's arm and yanked him towards the door.

"I have nothing on my –"

Jarlaxle found himself running down the hallway with his arm in Artemis' vise-like grip. "…feet."

"I don't care! You can levitate!" Artemis snapped. "This is a little more important than your personal comfort!"

"I wasn't out a week because I chose it!" Jarlaxle snapped back.

"We're escaping," Artemis said. "Now. I found a way out."

They skidded around a corner. He kept talking. "The guards are dead. Tandy is locked in her meditation chambers, attacking the villagers of Shaar. She is in a deep trance, controlling the animals by her will. This is our only chance. Understand? There won't be any second chances. She was devising a way to keep us under her spell forever. If we don't leave now, we'll be mindless pawns."

Jarlaxle listened and let himself be pulled, dazed. That was too much new information to assimilate. He noticed, then, that Artemis had lost Charon's Claw somehow. He was holding an unfamiliar sword encrusted with jewels. It looked like a more colorful match to his vampiric dagger.

"My daggers," Jarlaxle mumbled. "What about my daggers?"

"Your bracers have been taken and are under lock and key. Leave them. We need time to regroup."

"My hat. How did you get my hat?"

"Chance." Artemis made a wry face. "Apparently Tandy appreciates its style so much that she gave it to one of her lieutenants to wear. It was quick work to snatch it from his body after he was dead."

"It's my hat. Only I should wear it."

"Believe me, I am not disputing that."

Then Jarlaxle saw it. The arched double doors at the end of the hallway with sunlight streaming through the cracks. His jaw dropped. "What is this?" His eyes quickly traced the unbelievable hallway and doors. "A magic door – not on my map of this place."

"Our way out," Artemis said. "This is what we were close to when you blundered and walked into that trap."

They got to the end of the hallway. Artemis flung open the doors without so much as skidding to a stop. A blinding flash of light burned Jarlaxle's eyes, and Artemis yanked them through.

They were falling.

It was a moment where time stopped and Jarlaxle's heart was in his throat – a moment he knew that no matter how brave, Artemis was probably sharing with him right now.

They fell into the expansive white snow drifts below them. The drift compacted under them with twin crunches, and snow flew everywhere, covering them from head to foot.

Jarlaxle leaped straight into the air, shivering. "Aie!" He looked all around them with wild eyes, levitating above the ground. "We're in a snow land! The north? –" There was nothing but snow and evergreen trees all around them.

Artemis climbed out of the snow like a wet cat, hair hanging in his face. Jarlaxle pitied whatever creatures got in Artemis' way. "At least the damned exit took us far away from her and her machinations." He growled.

"Yes," Jarlaxle agreed. He tried to keep his teeth from chattering and couldn't. Still, he managed a smile. "Now we can go and visit Drizzt. He'll be so happy to see us."

Artemis grunted, apparently not amused.

They walked through the snow together. Jarlaxle stood unusually close, and Artemis wrapped his cape around the both of them. Jarlaxle was shaking violently, but trying to pretend as though he weren't. Snow melted on his bare feet.

That situation didn't last for long. Snow stopped melting so readily on Jarlaxle's feet, and the drow started complaining. Faced with the decision to let Jarlaxle probably die after already saving him from death, Artemis consented grumpily to carrying the drow through the snow.

"Come here…" The assassin resignedly held out his arms so that Jarlaxle couldn't mistake his intentions.

"Many thanks!" Jarlaxle jumped into his arms like a paramour.

"That's not what I –"

Jarlaxle threw his arms around Artemis' neck. They were freezing. "Oh, please?" He batted his eyelashes at the assassin and made a pitiful face. "I'll only be a little while. I'm sure that after a while I can walk again."

Artemis glared at that obvious trick. Jarlaxle braced for being dropped in the snow. At the last moment, however, the expression on Jarlaxle's face seemed to give Artemis pause. Jarlaxle felt his arms tighten around him. "When you're well…" he said grimly.

"I'll make up for it."

Artemis slogged on, braced against the chill wind that stirred up every now and again.

"You're showing mercy," Jarlaxle said. "You better be careful. I might take advantage of you." He burrowed into Artemis' warm body and tucked his head into the crook of the assassin's arm.

"You have no need to worry," Artemis said. His face was utterly devoid of expression. "If you start taking advantage of me, I'll leave you here to die."

"Your obvious leniency when it comes to chill winds and drow has-beens belies your sentiment." Jarlaxle started warming his hands against Artemis' shirt pocket.

Entreri looked affronted by this behavior.

"My hands are cold," Jarlaxle complained, seeing the look on his partner's face. "What am I supposed to do? Blame your tailor for the convenient pocket on your chest."

"I don't have a tailor."

"Ah, so that's the problem."

"I'm sure we'll reach a town soon. When we do, you can stop using me as a viable heat source."

"I hope so." Jarlaxle pouted. "I'm hungry. You didn't happen to steal some food before we left, did you?"

Artemis sighed. He knew now why he had asked Tandy to spare Jarlaxle. He hadn't had a meaning to his life, and as much as he regretted it due to all the trouble it was causing him now, there had been only one person who had bothered to give him one. Jarlaxle. The thing that gave his meaning right now was whining about the cold and sticking his sneaky ebon hands into every pocket he could find. There was only one reason he bothered to keep Jarlaxle from getting frostbite, and only one reason he was trudging through the snow right now when all he wanted to do was sit down and dwell on his feelings of emptiness.

Jarlaxle checked the last of the assassin's pockets, and then settled down again. "No, I guess not."

Until he found something better, Artemis' only reason for continuing in life past Drizzt was his friendship with Jarlaxle.

It began to snow.

-----------

Artemis stumbled through the door of the inn with snow in his hair and a festive ring of the stuff on Jarlaxle's hat brim. He blinked, breathing a sigh of relief at the warm air that hit his face and melted the snow on his eyelashes. Although there were a group of people settled at the tables closest to the fire, Artemis walked past them all and deposited Jarlaxle on the floor in front of the blazing fireplace. He left Jarlaxle wrapped up in his cape, even though it was soaked through and he knew it would take longer for Jarlaxle to get warm. He didn't feel like explaining at the moment that the bundle he was carrying was drow.

He walked up to the front desk and set down two gold coins stamped with the mark of Calimshan. They were special, heavy coins worth several northern pieces of gold, but two of the coins paid to him by the guilds of Calimport for a job completed. He let the innkeeper look at them while he waited patiently.

"I'd say you want a room then," the innkeeper said in a gravelly voice. The balding graybeard cleared his throat and coughed into one weathered fist. "Got yourself a double suite, too."

"Fine," Artemis said levelly. "I have a companion."

"Oh?" The innkeeper raised his bushy eyebrows.

Artemis nodded over to the fireplace. The innkeeper followed his eyes and saw Jarlaxle lying there. He looked puzzled and a little concerned. "You'd better get your friend there some help. He looks like he could use a healer. Assuming you trekked all this way through the snow like that, that is. He could use a bit of warming up. Why don't you take him upstairs for a bath, and I'll send my wife? She's good with compresses and things."

"My partner is under an illusion," Artemis said, pitching his voice low enough so that the conversation was private. "His business led him to disguise himself as a drow. The spell will wear off in a few weeks, but until then, he's stuck in the shape of a drow warrior. Can you manage that without being indiscreet? He's still technically on a job right now. We've just hit some bad luck."

"Sure," the innkeeper said, still looking puzzled. He glanced at Jarlaxle again. "He'll…uh… act like a person though, won't he?"

"We're not under cover at the moment, and our trail is unlikely to be found by our enemies," Artemis said. "I'll advise him to drop his guard as not to scare anyone."

"That would be great." The innkeeper looked relieved. "I'm a well- established man here, and it would hurt my reputation among my neighbors to house a drow."

"I understand," Artemis nodded.

He went over and took Jarlaxle upstairs. Jarlaxle was very weak, almost asleep due to the bitter cold, so rather than risk an accident, Artemis carried him once more. He found the bathroom easily enough and pushed open the door with his foot.

Artemis set the drow down in order to prepare the bath.

"Where are we?" Jarlaxle asked, blinking. He sat up slowly, taking off his hat.

"An inn. We made it." Artemis tested the temperature of the water pouring into the bathtub.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Making a bath. Someone's got to thaw you out."

"You're not going to make it too hot, are you?" Jarlaxle whined. "I'm a delicate person."

"I'm not an idiot, Jarlaxle. If I wanted your feet to be permanently damaged I would have let you walk here."

Artemis helped Jarlaxle strip off his wet, clingy clothes and get into the bath. Jarlaxle hissed and winced at the temperature, amplified by the coldness of his body.

Artemis turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Jarlaxle said plaintively.

Artemis didn't turn around. "If you must have my attendance, I'll come back after setting up our room."

"What if someone walks in on me? I'm a half frozen drow sitting naked in a bathtub." Jarlaxle wrung his hands, partly to increase circulation and partly because of anxiety. "I'm a sitting goblin!"

Artemis clenched his fists, shoulders tense, as if he were almost on the verge of strangling the drow and being done with it, but at the last moment, he relaxed. "Fine. Have it your way."

The two partners interacting in such a delicately personal event was unfamiliar to say the least.

Jarlaxle reclined in the tub, hot water swirling around his waist. He wore a catlike smile.

Artemis Entreri stood over him scowling, washcloth in hand.

"I'm only doing this because you couldn't walk here on your own, and you stink." To prove his point, he lathered Jarlaxle's body with a layer of soap and suds, then splashed a bucket of water over him. He sniffed. "Now I might be able to bear staying in the same room with you more than five minutes."

Jarlaxle smiled at him ingratiatingly and leaned forward a little. "Could you scrub my back some more? It itches… right between the shoulder blades. I can't reach it."

"You haven't been doing any of the work."

Jarlaxle batted his eyelashes. "I'm an invalid."

"And I'm not your servant."

"Please?"

Artemis sighed heavily and walked behind him. He scrubbed Jarlaxle's back without any particular sense of gentleness.

"A little lower?" Jarlaxle asked, trying to look at Artemis over his shoulder. "Please?"

Artemis growled. "I could drown you, you know. You'd never be able to make it out of here alive. It would be like puppies in a sack."

Jarlaxle gave him a wide eyed, perfectly innocent look. He tapped his lower lip. "Now, how did Drizzt put it? You're too honorable?"

"The drow has a crack in his head large enough to fit my hand into. All of his sense leaked out years ago."

"But I trust you," Jarlaxle protested playfully.

"Next time, don't hire a trained killer to be your nursemaid."

Jarlaxle lifted his foot out of the water and wiggled his toes. "Could you scrub my toes? I like it when I can get someone to scrub my toes."

"Puppies. Sack."

"Then I suppose the answer to that request is no," Jarlaxle sighed regretfully.

"I think you'd better get out of the bath before the water turns cold and your skin wrinkles to the point where you resemble a raisin."

Jarlaxle slouched further into the water. "I think I'll stay here a little longer."

Artemis left, and then returned to toss a bundle of clothing on the floor. "Here. I can't have you frightening everyone and flashing the patrons, so I brought you a clean set of clothes. Try not to stay in here too late. I'm going to sleep soon, and if you creep into the bedroom in the middle of the night, I'll kill you."

"You are too jumpy. You really should relax. Not every little noise is a threat."

Artemis glared at him. "I'll kill you on purpose."

Jarlaxle chuckled.

Soon after Jarlaxle got out of the bath, the innkeeper's wife came upstairs. Jarlaxle was already in bed and found her attentions quite awkward.

"Oh, you poor man," the innkeeper's wife said, propping an extra pillow under his head and slipping a bed warmer under the blankets. "You, trekking out there in the snow without proper clothing on, half freezing to death for the cause of freedom."

Artemis and Jarlaxle exchanged glances.

She said, "Oh, you must be a Harper. I have a nose about these things." She tapped her nose. "You're much too handsome to be an ordinary man, even under that awful disguise."

Jarlaxle smiled up at her awkwardly.

"Don't worry. I won't be telling." She tucked him in even more snugly and made sure the fire in the fireplace would roar all night long. She closed the door behind herself with a smile and a parting wave.

"Harper?" Artemis grumbled. "Then who am I, Elminster?"

Jarlaxle looked a little too discomfited to chuckle. "In spite of my disguise?" He looked at Artemis with a pout. "I am handsome because of my heritage. Is this not so? Do not my ebony skin and my molten red eyes add to my charm?"

"Get some sleep," Artemis advised. "We're leaving here tomorrow if we can. In the morning I'll purchase supplies, and we can plan where to go from here."

"I'm the most handsome drow that ever lived," Jarlaxle mumbled petulantly. "She has in her narrow-minded village life no capacity to appreciate my beauty."

"Right." Artemis turned over and pulled the blanket over his head pointedly.

So Jarlaxle was left alone with a lightly snoring Entreri, wide awake and confused about this day's events. No sooner had he awakened from a deathly sleep than he'd been yanked out of imprisonment, marched across a snowy plain, and then tucked into another bed a thousand miles away from where he began.

He had to go without his mercenary band, since he couldn't contact them, and he had to go without a plan, because he couldn't think straight through all the complaints his body was sending him. He was stranded, with no security other than Artemis. If he'd been the type to break down and cry, he would be now with no one to watch him. He missed his tools, his wands, his rings, his necklaces, his boots, his fabulous cape, his eye patch…

Jarlaxle beat his fists against the soft, feather bed. _If only I had my eye patch! I was going half snow blind out there today! Of all the places for a door to lead in Tandy's palace. The north! Typical! The worst possible case scenario in the realms. _

"Of course, it could have been one of the nine hells," he murmured to himself. After that perspective, he was able to rest his mind sufficiently to go to sleep with a smile on his face.


	2. Chapter 2: Lost Flame of Compassion

**Author's Note:** This story is the second in a series that is AU after Servant of the Shard. This means that any explanations of character pasts that appear in ­Promise of the Witch King and Road of the Patriarch are _also_ AU. As such, the missing explanations about Artemis Entreri's and Jarlaxle's pasts still needed as of Servant of the Shard will be unique to this series, and do not come in any way from RAS.

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

I know that Zaknafein was possessed of the ability to love, and the reality of Artemis Entreri simply cannot hold up against that.

Not in his present incarnation, at least, but is there hope that the man will find a light beneath the murderous form of the assassin?

Perhaps, and I would be glad indeed to hear that the man so embraced that light. In truth, though, I doubt that anyone or anything will ever be able to pull that lost flame of compassion through the thick and seemingly impenetrable armor of dispassion that Artemis Entreri now wears.

Drizzt Do'Urden

(237-238)

**Chapter 2**

Lost Flame of Compassion

"Please, let me go."

"Why?" She curled up suggestively in his lap and traced a finger on his chest.

"I want to train." He squeezed out a lone tear, hoping to use his youth against her. He didn't know why it would work, but he had to try. "I have lessons with Solfan."

"But why should I care?" she asked, teasingly kissing his cheek.

He trembled. His voice was rising higher. "I can be a better warrior for you if I have my training."

She laughed. His stomach clenched. She wound her arms around his lithe form. "I don't want you to fight for me. I want you to play with me. I will be just as satisfied as if you never have any defense training."

His fists clenched. "Let me go."

She placed her finger on his lips. "Shh. Don't be petulant, now. You'll ruin the fun. And you're so pretty when you're smiling."

"My mother –"

"Never wanted you," she finished for him. She almost looked pitying. "We're working out a negotiation right now for your addition to House Oblodra. I have use for you." She waved a delicate hand. "I will make concessions here, and there…" A smile curved on her lips. "…and I will get what I want."

_I want to die. _

* * *

Jarlaxle woke up. He had to force himself to keep breathing steady, shallow breaths and lie still. _Not the slightest betrayal that I've had a nightmare. Not the slightest. _His disordered thinking still allowed panic to course through his body, even though he knew that he was nowhere near House Baenre, and he was a distinguished six hundred year old male. He inwardly scowled away the fluttering notions of danger_. Disordered. That's what it was. No more than a foolish child's fear of light._

"Jarlaxle." A hand on his arm gently shook him. "Jarlaxle, wake up." It was Artemis, assuming that he was still asleep because of his shallow breathing and his stillness.

Jarlaxle blinked, and turned his head so that he met the assassin's eyes.

Artemis let out a breath. A mingled smile of relief, tension, and annoyance played on his lips, a small thing that Artemis probably did not realize he was doing. Then he blinked, and visibly seemed to collect his thoughts. "You are safe enough. I have to go purchase supplies. I told the innkeeper's wife to check on you in a couple hours." He turned, brusquely adjusted the collar on his cape, and left the room.

_Alone_, Jarlaxle thought. He felt a disquieting tingle on his skin, as if the quality of the air had suddenly changed. For the first time, whether he was truly alone or not made a difference to him.

He had the urge to get out of bed and go after him.

But Jarlaxle knew he was too weak to stand much walking, especially in the cold weather.

And what good would he do, anyway? He was one lone, injured drow without any magic, without any weapons, without even any gold. He felt so naked, even under three layers of covers and Artemis' threadbare castoffs.

His dream from the other night came back to him full force, and he couldn't help a sting of fear traveling through his body. He knew what happened to males that were helpless. It was that day, when he'd been seduced into the baths of a visiting priestess, that he'd vowed never to be innocent or helpless again. It had taken him centuries to make that promise come true and centuries more to start feeling secure in his position as the leader of a mercenary group and spy network.

Because of the will of a female, he'd lost it all. Jarlaxle's hands clenched into fists. He'd been so close to freedom – no more mercenary group to command his attention, no more games with Matron Mothers, a reliable partner he'd begun to build a personal understanding with – only to have it snatched away by one little human sorceress with an inflated ego.

It had been hard enough building up his power the first time. How would he fare a second time…this time stranded in a foreign country? Jarlaxle didn't know if he would get the chance to begin building up his power again. True, Artemis had saved him when he could have escaped on his own. True, Artemis had carried him through the snow to this little village. True, Artemis was presumably out buying supplies for the both of them so they could continue running. But at what point would the cost of dragging Jarlaxle behind him be more than the benefit of having Jarlaxle – a wounded, weak, Jarlaxle with no magical toys up his sleeve – watching his back?

Jarlaxle felt he had good reason to be afraid. If he were in Artemis' position, he would cut himself loose. What did it say about a person to be so easily defeated through a fault of their own and then disarmed of all items that made them a valuable companion? He would have shaken his head and told himself he made a grave mistake judging that person's relative value. And left them behind without a second thought.

Jarlaxle sat up. _But Artemis didn't._

When Artemis came back from purchasing weather ready clothing and supplies, he found Jarlaxle sitting on his bed with a profoundly stupid grin. _His_ bed.

The dark elf bounced on the bed a few times.

"What?" Artemis snapped.

Jarlaxle met his gaze, and beamed. "You like me!"

"You have ten seconds to get off of my bed before I cut your head off."

Jarlaxle raised an index finger. "I am not any less brilliant after my accident than I was before. Don't think I haven't figured it out, my friend." He pointed at Artemis. "You could have left me behind. You didn't."

"One."

"You not only stayed by my side when I was mortally injured, you didn't try to escape."

"Two."

"And yesterday, you carried me through the snow!" Jarlaxle flung out his arms. "Amazing! I never could have predicted that you would have such a soft spot for me."

"Three."

Jarlaxle clasped his hands. "You're making excellent progress. If I had my say, you'll be a paladin yet."

The scowl dropped from Artemis' face. Instead there was nothing in his expression. "I've changed my mind." He started to draw his sword.

Jarlaxle hastily relocated to his own bed. "But it's true, you see? I am right. You harbor genuine friendship for me. It's not just a coincidence that you've rescued me every time I've been in trouble. It means something. You yourself may not have realized it yet, but you like me. You genuinely like me."

Artemis inclined his head. "I like you."

Light broke out over Jarlaxle's face. His eyes shone, and his mouth dropped open in his childlike wonder and gratification.

"But liking you isn't enough to stay my hand if you keep talking. My instinct for self-preservation is very strong."

Jarlaxle closed his mouth with an audible click.

Artemis sat down on his bed. "You may well desire more sleep. We are leaving tomorrow. I have ascertained what direction the nearest city lies in, and I think we stand a good chance of blending in with the crowds there." He grimaced. "As long as you don't act like your usual self."

Jarlaxle crossed his arms. "That barb was hardly necessary."

"I'll feel more at ease when you can prove an ability to be inconspicuous."

The two had lunch together, in their room. Over a map Artemis had obtained that morning, the two discussed their escape plans. They were in Olberan, a village settled in a tiny dell. To the west was Silverymoon. If they could make it there, then they could travel on to Waterdeep, which was rumored to have a dark elven population. Even though it was small, that would be enough of a community for Jarlaxle and him to hide in while they recovered their business practices. Once they built up a new base of power and stockpiled the supplies they would need, they could enlist a wizard's help to return to the Shaar…

"…and then defeat Tandy," Artemis finished.

Jarlaxle gave Artemis one of those rare smiles that showed his admiration. "Lead on."

Once the dishes had been cleared away and the maps stowed from view, Artemis called in a maid to clear their dishes and set about polishing his dagger. It was a new one, since he'd lost the vampiric dagger to Tandy Jedra, and it had a plain wooden hilt.

Jarlaxle admitted to himself that he felt even less rested than when he'd woken up in the morning, and allowed himself to hunker down in his bed. "I think I'll have a nap," he said. He made sure to add with a properly dignified tone, "I think it unnecessary, but I will do whatever it takes to ensure our success."

Then he allowed himself to drift.

* * *

The next thing he knew, someone was talking to him. Jarlaxle couldn't understand what this person was saying, but following the voice drew him closer and closer to the surface of his consciousness. When he saw the room fading in, he knew that the speaker had to be Artemis.

"Yes?" Jarlaxle asked. He squinted woozily and tried to look alert.

"It's evening," Artemis said. "I thought it would be a bad idea to let you sleep through the night without any dinner, so I ordered some steak and mashed potatoes for you."

"Why steak and mashed potatoes?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis smiled crookedly. "House special. Less expensive."

Jarlaxle snorted. "I should have known."

Artemis put his hand on Jarlaxle's arm.

Jarlaxle accepted his help and sat up.

Artemis sat the silvery tray of food on Jarlaxle's lap. "So what have you been doing all this time?" Jarlaxle asked, cutting up the steak with fork and knife. He was pleased that his hands were steady and strong enough to do the task. _I'm not such an invalid after all,_ he thought with a smile.

Entreri folded his arms, and then came up with his dagger. He toyed with it. "That's for me to know and you to find out once we're safely away from this place."

"Secrets?" Jarlaxle asked, eating.

"For now," Artemis said. He actually winked. Jarlaxle resisted the urge to rub his eyes and check that again. "What would be the fun in revealing it all now?"

"None," Jarlaxle acquiesced, and carved up more of his steak with a puzzled expression. "Now, Artemis – have you found some insights you were previously lacking? Your mood seems much improved."

"I have gotten a clearer head," Artemis admitted.

Jarlaxle beamed up at him. "What did I tell you? That sex really does the trick."

Artemis glared at him. "I did not have sex." Jarlaxle chortled. Artemis cut him off before he could open his mouth. "Particularly not with the plump wife of the innkeeper."

"I didn't say a thing, not a thing."

"I saw you thinking it."

Jarlaxle composed himself and finished his dinner. "If it wasn't a woman, then perhaps it was a man – " Entreri's look could crush glass. Jarlaxle stumbled briefly. "…I mean, a mandolin or some other instrument. Perhaps you found a way to relax through music."

"No."

"Well, then, I'm glad, no matter what channel you chose to go through," Jarlaxle said. "You have my congratulations."

Artemis growled.

A servant came in to the room to clear away the dishes and change their bedding. Jarlaxle graciously got out of bed and moved so that he wouldn't be in the way. He and Artemis talked about useless things, things not in the forefront of either of their minds, and waited for the maid to leave.

Once she did, Jarlaxle climbed into bed again, playing with his hat morosely.

"What's the matter?" Artemis asked.

"I want her." Jarlaxle pouted. "If I were well, I would have been able to have her before we leave tomorrow."

Artemis turned away, curling his lip in disgust. "I'm sure there will be plenty of unfortunate women in Silverymoon and Waterdeep for you to prey on. Lech."

"Many fortunate women, for me to bestow my affections on," Jarlaxle corrected, sitting up and crossing his arms.

"Hnn." The assassin studied a cup, and then picked it up off his night stand. "I have a potion for you." Artemis arranged the pillows behind Jarlaxle's head more comfortably. "You need to drink it all at once." He pressed the earthenware cup into Jarlaxle's hands.

Jarlaxle drank deeply and drained the cup. As soon as the liquid touched the back of his throat, he reeled with a wave of dizziness. He tried to stop himself, but he reflexively swallowed. Blackness pulled him down with leaden hands. "You…you bastard." He could barely choke the words out in a whisper.

He barely felt Artemis take the cup from him. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he felt more betrayed than he'd ever been in his life. He should have seen it coming. He shouldn't feel this surprised. He shouldn't care.

One lone tear snaked its way down his cheek before he felt himself falling limp.

* * *

"What're you drawing?" Jarlaxle looked over as he drew his stick figure mother.

"Pig," the goblin said, smiling. He only had three teeth. There were gaps between them showing where the others would soon grow in.

"What's a pig?"

"It lives on surface, like mother tell me. They make sound like snore and make good eat." Ril doodled a whole flock of pig creatures.

"Your family came from the Surface?" Jarlaxle looked at him in awe. "What's it like? Is it pretty up there? What about the sun? My sister says the sun burns everyone to death! Do you hide under rocks or something?"

The goblin boy looked like he was trying very hard to think. "Mother say nothing about burning."

"Oh." Jarlaxle's forehead wrinkled in confusion. He thought about this while he drew spiders of all shapes and sizes crawling all over the space around his mother figure. "I guess maybe your mother didn't notice. Goblins are pretty stupid."

Ril grinned sheepishly. "We no have very much brains. Ril knows that. Ril hope people like him anyway."

"I like you," Jarlaxle said. "I like you a lot."

"What you drawing, Jarlaxle?"

"Oh, I'm drawing spiders. They're sacred, you know. They make things happen. And I'm not supposed to touch them. My mother controls all the spiders in the world. She's Matron Baenre. She's so powerful she could squash me with one toe. Madyila says that's why I have to keep out of her way."

"You no see your mother?" Ril looked puzzled and a bit surprised.

"Why?" Jarlaxle scowled at him enviously. "You mean you get to see your mother?"

"All time," Ril said, smiling his gap-toothed smile. "She take care of me."

"My mother doesn't like me." Jarlaxle looked at the ground. He didn't feel like doodling anymore, now.

"Why? Mother like all her children, my mother say." Ril frowned, trying to think again. He started drawing fat little humanoid shapes in pairs, squashed together.

"Mady says I'm no good, that's why my mother doesn't want me. I did something bad, so now Mother wants to kill me. Only she can't, because some Lloth lady won't let her. They said I was born twice because I didn't die properly like I should have and Lloth sent me back because I had a destiny or something. Lloth's a goddess," he added. "She's pretty."

"Detiny?"

"Destiny."

"What mean 'destiny', Jarlaxle?"

Jarlaxle screwed up his face, thinking. "Something Lloth wants me to do that I can't do if I'm dead." He muttered under his breath, "But I'm not going to do it, even if it means she'll punish me. I don't care what it is."

Ril didn't appear to notice his last words. "Oh, like mother," Ril said, brightening. "She say, 'Never go near soldiers. Soldiers stinky. They kill you and then no one come clean rothe poop.'" He giggled. "She wouldn't like that cause rothe poop is stinky, and she need place to have fun with father. Rothe is always walking through our bedroom." He shook his head sadly. "We no get them to leave, and no one care we no want poopy animal coming through house!"

"I could tell Mady," Jarlaxle said. "Maybe she'd do something about it. We don't have rothe wandering through our halls. I wonder how we keep them away."

"What are you doing here?" a female voice suddenly screamed from down the hall.

Jarlaxle turned quickly, dropping his coloring rock. "Mady!" His mouth opened, trembling, and he started backing away.

"Oh no," Ril said, blinking with big eyes and lying down on the floor. "Mistress coming."

"Get away," Jarlaxle shouted. "She's mad!" He stumbled backwards another few steps before Madyila caught him by the hair. He cried out in pain and then squeezed his eyes shut. "I wasn't doing anything wrong! I found some neat rocks and made a drawing! I'm worshipping Lloth! Honest, sister! I was praying like I was supposed to! I was being good!"

She wagged her whip under his nose, snakes writhing and hissing. "How dare you defile this place with your lowly scrawlings. Defiler. You will pay for your insolence!"

"I wasn't being insolent," Jarlaxle said. Big tears welled up in his eyes. "Please forgive me. I made a mistake. I didn't know." He desperately tried to walk with her hand tangled in his hair, putting himself between her and Ril.

Madyila's voice seethed with disgust. "What are you doing with that…thing?"

"I was – I was – Ril's my friend," Jarlaxle stammered. "We were only – w-worshipping Lloth together. He likes Lloth too. He's a good goblin. He's like me. We're both –"

She slapped him so hard that his lip split and his nose spurted blood. Then she threw him to the floor, where he lay still, the breath knocked out of him.

He tried to signal with his eyes. _Ril, run away. Please, Ril, run away. She's mad at you. She'll hurt you._

Ril maintained his groveling.

"Why are you here?" Madyila demanded, glaring down at Ril.

"I?" The goblin boy became shifty-eyed, refusing to look at her face. "I? I no here."

Jarlaxle wanted to smack his forehead, tear out his hair, and beat Ril to a bloody pulp. "You idiot!" he blurted, struggling to his feet. "You can't lie like that!"

Madyila backhanded him without turning around, sending him stumbling back clutching his face.

"Did you do this?" She pointed at the crude drawings of pigs and squat little humanoids.

Ril scrunched up his face in a timid smile. "You like?"

Jarlaxle cowered before he even knew precisely what his wean mother was going to do. He heard the terrifying noises of the snake whip hissing sharply right before their strike, Ril shrieking, and Madyila shouting obscenities. "I'll flay the meat off your bones, you dirt crawler! Damn you to the Surface, moron!"

"M-Mady?" Jarlaxle asked, trying to talk to her, trying to get her to stop. "Mady, why? Mady, stop hurting him. I did it all, really. Mady…Ril didn't do anything, Mady. Those pictures are all mine. I drew every one of them. I was bad. Don't hurt Ril."

She turned around.

Jarlaxle froze. Behind her, Ril was crying and covered in blood, clutching his wounds.

"This…dirt crawler did nothing?" Madyila's lip curled. She pointed at the flock of pig creatures. "You drew these…things?"

"Y-Yes."

"What are they?"

"I made them up."

Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled at him coldly. "You have quite the imagination, little Jarlaxle."

Jarlaxle nodded, licking his lips. He ventured to his feet.

Madyila nodded sharply to another priestess coming down the hallway, a minor one. "Come, Isala. Help me punish these boys."

"But – but I –" Jarlaxle was cut off by the second priestess standing by him. "Mady?"

"If you have such a wonderful imagination," Mady said, stroking his face with her whip, "can you imagine why the goblin filth being your 'friend' is the reason for your punishment?"

He shook his head and felt his mouth drying up. "No, wean mother."

She hit him across the face with her whip. He spun and fell, crying from the venom in the snake bites. "Because he is dirt, you fool! Someday you will be a prince! He will be fodder for the driders!"

She looked to the other priestess. "Hold him, so he may watch his friend's punishment." Madyila stared directly at Jarlaxle. He quickly looked at the floor as Isala hauled him to his feet. "Death."

Jarlaxle's head snapped up. "Death?" he protested shrilly. He immediately began trying to escape from Isala's hold. "Run Ril, run! Tha –" Madyila slapped him across the mouth. His eyes watered, but he licked the blood off his lips and defiantly finished his sentence. "That's not right of you!"

The priestesses, both of them, turned stony, heeding his words no longer. Jarlaxle stood, trembling, held back by Isala's hands on his arms. The goblin boy was backed against the wall, squeaking. "No hurt me, no hurt me, Mistress. No… No…"

Madyila smacked him.

Ril began crying. "Jarlaxle, Jarlaxle please, help me. Ril knows you friend."

Jarlaxle felt numb. He felt a deep sense of horror from inside that he had never felt before. He couldn't move, and he couldn't speak. He was helpless.

He watched every blow, every slow, deliberately dealt blow to Ril's body. Blood gushed and dripped out of Ril's wounds, puddling on the floor, spattering on the wall, covering their neat little pictures. Ril lost his eyes, and still Madyila kept torturing the goblin boy. Jarlaxle threw up, and still she kept torturing the goblin boy. The whipping cut into his stomach and eventually spilled the goblin's intestines. Madyila kept whipping. Jarlaxle cried, frenzied shrieking and sobbing he had never been wracked with in his life. Madyila didn't stop until his playmate was a pile of blood, broken bones, and ruptured internal organs. The acidic, metallic smell made Jarlaxle dizzy. It was so horrible he thought he would pass out.

When Isala let go of him, he fell to his hands and knees. Cold tears dripped down his cheeks. "Mady," Jarlaxle wailed. "Mady, why?"

"It is your fault," Madyila said. She cleaned her hands of blood. "If you had not forced him to become your accomplice, he would be alive right now, shoveling dung."

"But you were the one who –"

"If you hadn't led him to scrawl his disgusting little graphics on the wall, he wouldn't have been killed."

"I – I…" Jarlaxle felt another heaving surge from his stomach. "No! I didn't do it! I didn't mean to! I can't, I, I want Ril back!" he wailed. He threw himself to the floor, sobbing. "I don't want to live anymore! I want Ril back!"

Madyila looked down on him without expression. "Your foolishness brought death down on his head, so you will be the one to clean him up. Take him to the pits out back and feed him to the driders."

Jarlaxle got to his feet. His face was hotter than the time he'd caught a fever, and some nameless emotion was burning through his veins. His fingernails dug into his palms.

She started to walk away, and then paused. "Oh, and clean up the wall. If I see one spot of rock dust or blood, I will flay your hide and give you three days without food. Do it."

"Bitch!"

He didn't know why he said it – he didn't even know what it meant. The soldiers said it sometimes. He knew it was something terrible. They were both frozen. He was numb.

"Jarlaxle?" Her voice was low and deadly.

That crazy feeling from before burst through, and he inhaled, a good deep breath. He called it at the top of his lungs. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!"

He hobbled around with his arm in a sling and both legs broken for days afterwards, not allowed to go to a House cleric or drink a potion. He stubbornly passed by the same hall on his crutches every day to glare at the drawings and congealing gore. He kicked Ril's body when he was ordered to clean it up, and in the end, someone else did it.

* * *

"That was a bit of an overreaction to being fed a healing draught," Artemis observed.

"What?" Jarlaxle sat up, dazed, suddenly wide awake. He looked around with wide eyes. The room was gently spinning. The light streaming through the curtains spoke of early afternoon. "It was…" He licked his lips. They were dry, and had unpleasant traces of the potion on them. "It's another day."

"Yes. You slept."

"How – why?"

Artemis said, "I did not plan such an event, but the innkeeper offered." His lips curled into a sardonic smile. "He wanted to 'help however he could'."

"You – you poisoned me," Jarlaxle protested.

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "So I gathered from your 'dying words'."

Jarlaxle felt his cheeks burning.

"Why, exactly, would I poison you?" Artemis asked, leaning against one of Jarlaxle's bedposts. "If you give me a reason that makes sense, I might cut the ensuing mockery down to a mere five years."

"Mister generosity himself," Jarlaxle muttered. He looked into Artemis' eyes. "You know I don't have to tell you anything."

"I know." Artemis smiled innocently and shrugged. "But for five years off your sentence, you may want to consider bowing to my curiosity."

Jarlaxle gave him a hard look. Then he sprang out of bed and posed self righteously with one hand in the air. "I bow to no one!"

The assassin chuckled. "Have it your way." He tossed Jarlaxle a wool sweater. "You might want to put this on."

Jarlaxle and Artemis got dressed for the weather, which had not noticeably improved. The normalcy of preparing for their journey brought Jarlaxle back down into the realm of calm. "I do feel much better," Jarlaxle admitted.

Artemis snorted. "Good. I'm going to need your help. It's not going to be me carrying you all the way to Silverymoon."

Jarlaxle sighed affectedly. "I must get used to life's little disappointments."

"Try these on, won't you?" Artemis handed him a pair of bracers. Jarlaxle took them, frowning. "They're not yours, I know, but they'll protect your arms. That's what they were intended for. I've acquired some weapons that should do nicely for replacing your daggers. At least for a while, you'll have to learn to live without luxuries."

Jarlaxle sniffed. "I didn't always have those luxuries, you know. How do you think I got along before?"

"I hope you remember," Entreri said.

"I'm not that old."

Jarlaxle fitted the iron bracers to his wrists, and tried out the new daggers. They weren't glamorous, but they were well balanced and sharp. He sighed. "I guess that'll do. I can't ask for much more under the circumstances."

Artemis put his hand on Jarlaxle's arm. "Tandy will attack eventually…and when she does, you can reclaim some of that marvelous equipment of yours. I don't think she can pass up the temptation of using it for her own men."

Jarlaxle cursed himself. His surprise at the gesture showed too clearly on his face, and Artemis quickly removed his hand. He gave Artemis a brittle and vengeful smile. "Then she will find out the folly of expecting a drow's weapons to work against him in the hands of foreigners."

Artemis nodded. "She will indeed."


	3. Chapter 3: Friends

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Silent Blade:

"Rai'gy will have to pray to Lady Lolth for a hundred years to regain her favor after using one of her bestowed healing spells upon your dying form," Jarlaxle remarked with a laugh. He nodded to Kimmuriel, who bowed and left the room.

"May she take him to her side for those prayers," Drizzt replied dryly. His witty demeanor did not hold, though, could not hold, in the face of all that he had just come through. He eyed Jarlaxle with all seriousness. "Why did you save me?"

"Future favors?" Jarlaxle asked more than stated.

"Forget it."

Yet again Jarlaxle found himself laughing. "I envy you, Drizzt Do'urden," he replied honestly. "Pride played no part in your fight, did it?"

Drizzt shrugged, not quite understanding.

"No, you were free of that self-defeating emotion," Jarlaxle remarked. "You did not need to prove yourself Artemis Entreri's better. Indeed, I do envy you, to have found such inner peace and confidence."

"You still have not answered my question."

"A measure of respect, I suppose," Jarlaxle answered with a shrug. "Perhaps I did not believe that you deserved death after your worthy performance."

"Would I have deserved death if my performance did not measure up to your standards, then?" Drizzt asked. "Why does Jarlaxle decide?"

Jarlaxle wanted to laugh again but held it to a smile in deference to Drizzt. "Or perhaps I allowed my cleric to save you as a favor to your dead father," he said, and that put Drizzt on his heels, catching him completely by surprise.

"Of course I knew Zaknafein," Jarlaxle explained. "He and I were friends, if I can be said to have any friends. We were not so different, he and I."

Drizzt screwed up his face with obvious doubts.

"We both survived," Jarlaxle explained. "We both found a way to thrive in a hostile land, in a place we despised but could not find the courage to leave."

"But you have left now," Drizzt said.

"Have I?" came the reply. "No, by building my empire in Menzoberranzan I have inextricably tied myself to the place. I will die there, I am sure, and probably by the hands of my own soldiers – perhaps even Artemis Entreri."

Somehow Drizzt doubted the claim, suspecting that Jarlaxle would die of old age centuries hence.

"I respected him greatly," the mercenary went on, his tone steady and serious. "Your father, I mean, and I believe it was mutual."

Drizzt considered the words carefully and fount that he couldn't disagree with Jarlaxle's claims. For all Jarlaxle's capacity for cruelty, there was indeed a code of honor about the mercenary leader. Jarlaxle had proven that when he held Catti-brie captive and had not taken advantage of her, though he had even professed to her that he wanted to. He had proven it by allowing Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Entreri to walk out of the Underdark after their escape from House Baenre, though surely he could have captured or killed them and such an act would have brought him great favor of the ruling house.

And now, by not letting Drizzt die in such a manner, he had proven it again.

(390-391).

**Chapter 3**

Friends

* * *

Artemis and Jarlaxle agreed it would be unwise to take on a day's journey through the harsh cold without a filling breakfast. That is where they went first.

"Breakfast, good sirs?" The bald, portly man did a cursory polish over their table with his rag. "We have fried steak with country gravy. House Special. You'll like it."

"As long as it's not the same as the cooking elsewhere," Artemis said, smirking. One Shaaryan House Special was enough.

The man looked puzzled.

Jarlaxle laughed. "That means yes. I'd also like a dish of griddle cakes, if you have them."

That request seemed to cement the idea that he was not truly a drow, for their waiter gave Jarlaxle a relieved, friendly grin. "Coming right up. I'll have Hattie make em for you fresh. If you like, I can top it with strawberry jam."

"Yes," Jarlaxle said. "I think I would like that." He turned on the full power of his beaming smile. "Thank you."

"You're mighty welcome," the man said, waddling off.

"Tell me, Artemis," Jarlaxle said, draping an arm over the table and leaning forward comfortably, "have you ever been to Skullport?"

Artemis shook his head. "No. I've only heard stories about it. It's not as helpful as having been there before. We should still prepare for the worst." He smirked. "After all, you are quite offensive. They may not tolerate you at all."

"Are you saying they would throw me out of a den of scum and villainy?"

The assassin smiled and shrugged. "There's only so much scum and villainy scumbags and villains can take."

Jarlaxle made a show of pouting.

Their meals came soon after, and they concentrated on eating.

"I don't think we're in any danger here, and we will leave sooner if we split up," Artemis said as they walked out of the inn.

Jarlaxle nodded.

"I'll go see about getting horses," Artemis said. "I already know one woman who said she would be willing to sell to me the other day." He tossed Jarlaxle a small bag of coins. "Why don't you investigate what resources this town has in the way of magic. You'd know what to look for better than I."

They went their separate ways.

Jarlaxle just milled around for a little while, walking through the small piles of black snow over the road and looking at the gold in his hand. He didn't know how he felt about it. He'd just been given gold and told to go get something. No one had ever done that to him. Not if it wasn't a trick…and he doubted Artemis would tell him he'd bought the wrong thing and then start taking strips out of his hide. The assassin truly didn't care what he bought with the gold. It was just a present.

He frowned at it. He felt as though Artemis were trying to take care of him. But he was the one who had always taken care of other people. He didn't know how to react to this. He'd never been in this position.

They met in front of the inn about half an hour later. Artemis was leading two rugged looking steeds with long, shaggy coats. Jarlaxle surmised that his friend had been successful in his dealings with the woman.

"Well?" Artemis asked as Jarlaxle inspected the horses. He already got one of them to nuzzle his hand, and decided that one would be his. "Did you find anything that could be of use to us?"

Jarlaxle slipped his hand into a belt pocket and showed the assassin the trinkets he had purchased. "I found a local mage, but she was only capable of making minor enchantments. I have a ring that helps a little against fire, and a ring that affords some protection against ice, but I didn't find anything that could help ward off enemies." He made a face. "Her only wand was a casting of water purification ten times a day."

Artemis sighed. "Alright. What's that necklace, then?"

Jarlaxle smiled sheepishly. "It's a charisma enhancer. I had a weakness for it because of the semi-precious stones, and I thought it might help me if I had to convince someone not to hurt me."

"You better put it on," Artemis said. He narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. "If I find that is all you bought with the generous sum I handed you, I'll kill you."

Jarlaxle chuckled and quickly produced the scrolls he'd purchased at the mage's shop. "Stoneskin, magic missiles, acid arrow, and three – no, sorry, four scrolls of fireball spells. In case we encounter trolls."

Artemis nodded, looking more at ease. "I think that will be a necessary precaution."

Jarlaxle tucked the scrolls under his belt again and dangled the beautiful necklace. "So, will I need this?"

"Not today," Artemis said. "But keep it handy. You are full of slight, annoying habits."

Jarlaxle grinned and took off his hat in order to slip the necklace on. "I shall wear it, then. No harm was ever done by being extra charming." He also slid the rings onto his fingers, over his gloves. They fit a little uncomfortably, but they wouldn't fit at all under his gloves, and he wasn't about to take them off. "How do I look?"

Artemis gave him a sour appraisal from head to foot. "Insane, like always."

Jarlaxle beamed. "Good. One must keep up appearances."

They mounted their new horses and set off down the path that would lead them one day closer to their destination of Silverymoon, and then Waterdeep's underground.

In spite of that morning's banter, Jarlaxle was shamed. He knew that Artemis tended to him during a time of great danger. Danger they were not yet out of, and yet the assassin found time to take care of him when he was sick. If the positions had been reversed, he would not have done the same. His dream haunted him: the sweetness of his innocence at a young age, such a young age that he did not know how to injure or kill; the effortless way he had drawn the goblin into his world with charm he did not yet know he possessed; the ease of their time as playmates. His betrayal, burning hotter than any feeling had since burned, when his wean mother had killed the goblin for being his friend. The dead corpses of his childhood convictions made him stop and shut him up for the time it took to leave the town and ride into the snowbound forest. To think of the childhood convictions he'd had about right and wrong, and how easily they had been snuffed out and forgotten.

He once had been as Artemis was. He once would have helped a dying friend, leapt into mortal danger for a person that so captured his heart that he told that person all his secrets. There had been no secrets with Ril. There had only been companionship.

Jarlaxle could not remember when he had stopped believing what he had believed as a child. It was not any one event. It was a pervasion, something so small and so subtle to him that he had not sensed it. The dream he'd had about Ril was like a slap in the face: wake up! And he had awakened.

He'd awakened to realize that he was in a nightmare where he no longer had any convictions from bending them so long. That he had done things Artemis, his kindred spirit, would think were wrong. That he had suffered slings and indignities it would horrify his friend to know and been subjected to a layer of filth he should have choked on. Instead, he had come to see these things as normal. The dream about Ril had reawakened horror in response to these things, a feeling of horror he didn't know he still possessed.

Jarlaxle measured the uneven gait of his steed and the increased bumpiness of the ride as they crossed a rougher, boulder-strewn patch of terrain, but it couldn't jolt him out of the sick, numb feeling that was stealing over him.

His love for the line between life and death might have been his last cry of help to himself. A cry that his life was not what he wanted it to be. The unending manic energy that buoyed him, hiding his desperation to cling to who he was in a situation slipping further and further into madness. Every time he was hurt he walled that part of himself off, robbing the event of emotional importance, until there were honeycombs of locked doors inside him and the open space was getting smaller and smaller… How much of him was left?

Something he hadn't considered before, either: whether or not the closed doors were parts of him that actually still remained. He thought the dreams meant that they were. Those discarded parts of him were still there, and he could open them. If he wanted.

Jarlaxle was suddenly frightened. If he was the only one that had the key to those doors, and they had been opened in his dreams, some part of himself wanted those doors opened. He wanted to let those dark, uncharted parts of himself free. What would he find? Why would he want to let out all of those hurt, mangled dreams? It frightened him to realize that he turned to look at Artemis with that question on the tip of his tongue. For once in his life, he needed guidance, and there was someone riding beside him through the cold, wild-blown forest that he would actually ask. He was aware of feeling set up by someone with a higher power than he. It was like a sign. But should he, or should he not?

"Are you being silent, or has your mouth frozen shut?" Artemis asked, looking over at him.

"Artemis – What do you hope to gain by me?" Jarlaxle asked. Artemis was usually the straightforward one, but he felt as though all their roles had suddenly switched. The assassin had command of the situation, and he was the dependent.

"Nothing," Artemis said with a straight face. "You are my friend."

Jarlaxle stared at him. He had just quoted Jarlaxle's own words back to him after the mercenary had saved him from death by taking him to Bregan D'aerthe for the first time. He searched his recollections for a moment, and came up with the assassin's response. "Friends we may or may not be, but that does not explain why you would save me and keep me alive rather than leaving me where I lay."

Entreri shrugged, the motion barely detectable under his heavy scarves and fur-lined cloak. "Call it a whim. I'll see where it leads me."

"Since when did you follow up whims?"

Artemis didn't answer him.

Jarlaxle felt a huge chasm between himself as he was now and the child he had been when he had been capable of friendship and full disclosure. He reminded himself that Artemis Entreri was not Ril. He didn't have the option of dropping on Artemis that he was afraid he had lost most of the pieces of himself. Artemis wouldn't be able to listen the way Ril had listened when he had said his mother hated him. He wondered what would happen if he told Artemis that. Probably nothing good.

On the silent ride through the wintry forest, Jarlaxle made the decision that he had to leave Artemis behind. Part of it was his own reduced capability as a partner. He hadn't helped Artemis so many times in the past to be his downfall later. Part of it was his reawakened shame over who he had let himself become by losing the keen sense that his culture and its tortures were wrong. But the real reason, the reason he only admitted to himself once that day, was that he was afraid of losing control. Artemis could betray him. Even if he did not, Artemis could. That was too much for Jarlaxle to handle.

Just after nightfall, they broke through the forest and into open land. They could see the little glowing ball of a town ahead. However, in spite of its tantalizing visibility, they chased the rosy glow of the town over snow-crusted hills for hours. Like a falling star, it never seemed to get closer. When Jarlaxle had almost given up, the town began its miraculous growing trick, a feat that soon filled up the horizon. They had come to Pickett.

Though it was well after dark, the cobblestone streets were swept clean of snow, and there was still activity at a large house down the main road. It turned out to be the inn. Jarlaxle let Artemis procure a room. He didn't argue against staying in the same room this time. It was kinder. He wouldn't be staying, anyway, and he didn't want the assassin to have to pay for a room no visitor was going to use. Instead of speaking, he merely nodded to the innkeeper and followed Artemis upstairs.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Artemis started shedding his winter garments. "We arrived here in good time," he said, dropping several scarves, a cloak, and his heavy gloves on the floor. He unbuttoned his down coat, unhooking the large buttons rapidly. "We have good horses. It is fortunate that the woman in the last village didn't cheat me."

Jarlaxle silently unwound his scarf from around his face. "I don't think anyone could cheat you, my friend." Artemis looked up at him. He winked. "You're too intimidating. Especially for some poor woman. You will take it upon yourself to present yourself nicely someday, won't you?"

Artemis gave a disgruntled shrug and dropped his coat. "I am never going to have children, so what is the point?"

"That is such a waste!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, looking at him admonishingly. He raised an eyebrow. "You have a responsibility to spread your extraordinary skills to the next generation!"

Artemis looked at him incredulously.

"It is as I told my friend Zaknafein," Jarlaxle said, waving an index finger. "If you do not spread your good blood to the next generation, you are preventing someone in the future from doing great things! Just think what sort of warrior would come from Artemis Entreri? A master! A master to top all masters!" Jarlaxle smiled at him slyly. "And would you not be creator of the greatest master of all time? You could claim credit for some other's rise to fame. He would be your son."

At those words, Artemis immediately soured. He turned away and crossed his arms. "No. No son of mine. I'm sure the world has enough aspiring swordsmen without an additional brat running around." He snorted. "No, you've spread enough blood for the both of us."

Jarlaxle grinned. "The right woman will change your mind."

"There is no such person."

"Of course there is!" Jarlaxle spread his arms. "Is that not what you humans say? There is a soul mate for everyone?"

"Not me."

Jarlaxle lowered his arms. "Why not?"

Artemis turned to face him and looked him in the eye. "My soul is a product of my experiences. If a woman had endured what I have, she would have died. A long time ago. There is no point entertaining the idea that there is a woman to match me. There are none." He turned away and returned to preparing for bed. "There is no way to know me without knowing my experiences. No woman could ever understand my life."

Jarlaxle stayed silent, musing his friend's words. He did understand – he supposed, in a way, Artemis would claim a woman couldn't. They were alike, and he was sure that Artemis had endured pain the same way he had. He and Artemis shared an affinity. With a sudden sadness, he could understand some of Entreri's loyalty to him. In their own ways, they both deeply resented being alone. _But that's the way it has to be._

He crawled under the covers of his new bed and stayed there, looking at the ceiling, well after he could hear the steady rise and fall of Artemis' breathing in slumber.

Eventually he forced himself to go before he wouldn't be able to go at all.

Jarlaxle stole out of bed. Not a floorboard creaked. He lifted the map from the table, glanced at it briefly, and confirmed that it was the one Artemis had marked with their route. He rolled it up and stuck it in his hat. Then he lifted a handful of coins from the purse at Artemis' belt and whisked out of the room, his boots never making a sound. The closing of the door was so delicate that it hardly stirred up any dust. He was gone.

He effortlessly avoided all the staff strolling through the inn and got his horse out from the stables. The horse, perhaps sensing his urgency, was as silent as he was. It didn't have a drow's grace, but its footsteps were surprisingly soft, and made no other noise save the soft whuffling of its breath. Jarlaxle was deeply appreciative.

The speculation of what Artemis would find in the morning – or not find – ate at Jarlaxle as he urged his mount down the road that would eventually lead to Silverymoon. Seeing the look on his friend's face in his mind pained him. He did not want to end their partnership. He had to.

Even as the village grew smaller and smaller behind him he asked himself what more he could have done. _I have done all I could have done,_ Jarlaxle answered himself vehemently. _He will find other friends. If he chooses to. He has incredible charm! If he will use it on people he could gather an intelligence network as large as I had. He could be a leader. I know he resents it, but he could._

Jarlaxle shook his head. _No, I gave him everything I had to give. It is best that I go anyway. He will not want to stay my partner much longer if he has absorbed all of my knowledge. He knows how to enjoy himself. He has all the tools to make himself happy. _

Yet, still a part of him doubted. A part of him saw Artemis sinking into the hungry depression that had almost consumed him before. The part of him that saw an amazing, skilled man break down and withdraw in on himself, as if the pride and sharp self-confidence had been a shell. He barely grasped an important truth: that although Artemis Entreri had all the tools he needed to make himself happy in his life, he might choose not to use them.

* * *

Artemis awoke, rubbed his eyes, and turned his head to see if Jarlaxle was awake. Jarlaxle was not in his bed. This was a marked change from the drow's insistence that they stick together. He jumped out of bed and pulled on a shirt.

He saw that the map was missing from the desk where he'd laid it. He frowned. Jarlaxle had left, taking the map… Did he decide to ask questions about their route without him?

The assassin quickly went downstairs and looked around the common room. No Jarlaxle. Two maids were just now getting tables ready for breakfast. The innkeeper was mopping the floor.

Artemis stopped him. "Did you see my friend leave? The one wearing the purple hat?"

The innkeeper's brow crinkled. "The purple-hatted one? I would've remembered him."

_Don't count on it,_ Artemis thought darkly. _My esteemed companion has his ways of escaping notice._

The middle-aged man shook his head. "No. Haven't seen him."

Artemis sighed. "Of course." He threw his hands into the air. "It's not the first time he's gone to the market before me. If I know him, he sneaked his way out of here in the middle of the night." _There. That should keep the innkeeper from talking._ _Nothing is less interesting than the dry history of mild disagreements between friends. _

The innkeeper squinted one eye almost shut and ruminated on those words for a moment. Then he smiled slightly. "The ladies?"

"Always." Artemis didn't have to feign his weary irritation. He turned and went back up the stairs, returning to the scene of the crime to scrape up his handful of clues. He would find them, he knew. It was the worry that their meaning might not immediately be clear that made his footfalls heavy.

The sheets were mussed. The assassin stared at Jarlaxle's abandoned bed, at the large wrinkles and folds in the maroon top cover. He was so incensed by the thoughtlessness of Jarlaxle stealing his map that he hadn't registered the bed as unusual. He tapped his forehead with his fingers and scowled, closing his eyes. _Jarlaxle slept perfectly still – he did elven reverie. There should be no signs of disturbance on the bed. That means that he was awake the entire time – Waiting to leave!_ Artemis snapped his eyes open.

He turned on his heel, overcome by the turmoil of too many emotions at once to categorize. "That – that son of a bitch!" He threw his dagger at the wall as hard as he could. The long, wicked thing made a sharp _kuk! _and stuck into the wood paneling. The hilt vibrated for a second, violently, and then stilled. Artemis stormed over and yanked it out of the wall. He hoped, for one moment, that the wall was just alive enough to be killed.

But then Artemis Entreri surprised everyone, including himself: he had an immense, thirsting desire to track the drow bastard down, backed up by the sense of wounded pride that raised its hackles and demanded to be given full reign. He would not let Jarlaxle leave, because Jarlaxle could not leave his illustrious, world renowned – primary – business partner. It could not be done. To the nine hells with the fact that he had vowed never to go chasing fools across Faerun ever again: here was a chase worthy of him. A chase worthy of Artemis Entreri. This made his old, dusty hunter's instincts salivate with long-forgotten excitement. He was thirsty.

* * *

Artemis got a new map and marked out the exact same route he had marked on the first one. The coins he found missing meant nothing to him, so he was back where he started in terms of readiness. He saddled his horse and left town.

He was amused and almost excited that Jarlaxle had stolen the map instead of committing it to memory. He wouldn't have stolen the map if he wasn't going to follow their plan. So he was going to follow their plan, but he had decided in the middle of the night do to it without Artemis. The fact that Jarlaxle honestly thought that would save him the trouble of a confrontation amused him. It excited him because a part of him acquainted with Jarlaxle's odd, roundabout way of thinking thought that perhaps he was intended to follow Jarlaxle's trail and catch up with him. That made about as much sense as impersonating Drizzt Do'Urden, really. If that was one of Jarlaxle's plans, then anything was possible.

* * *

In the land of Shaar, the sun beat steadily and strongly. However, inside her tower, the sunlight was but a weak stripe through a beautiful, delicately paned window. On days like this, where her informants told her it was close to 130 degrees, she was glad of the enchantments on her tower. Hearing about such despotic temperatures was almost enough to make her fair, untested skin burn.

On the table in front of her, a polished globe of pure, clear crystal depicted an image of wind-swept pines, heavy with frost and snow. The picture scrolled, as an eye might, scanning the forest. It was an empty view, as desolate as the view of the Shaar's sun-baked plains from her study window. She found a bit of nostalgia in this view, unlike the view from her study. Her fingertips gently caressed the crystal ball. It was frustrating, having lost track of her quarry, but memories of her childhood in the North tugged at her like the little hands of childhood friends, beckoning her to put off looking for her escaped captives and just dream a little.

Her skin tingled suddenly at a surge of magic.

Tandy Jedra looked up from the scrying crystal on the table. A tall gold elf in richly patterned mage's robes appeared in her study, long hair fluttering with a magical wind that did not disturb her stacks of paper.

"I apologize for not being able to tear myself away from family matters until this day." The richly dressed elf bowed slightly. "I realize that some trouble has occurred with the two prisoners you say you acquired after a battle in your tower."

"My lord, what shall I do?" She looked at him anxiously. "My family is fighting a battle in the North right now and recalled many of their retainers, leaving me with a paltry handful to satisfy my needs. As such, the moment I served you by entering my trance in order to destroy more of the Shaaryan people, the human one slaughtered the retainers I set to guard him, and he and the dark elf escaped. I don't know what to do. Should I let them go, and prepare in case they try to overtake me again, or shall I retrieve them, exhausting more precious resources?"

"I will lend you the materials necessary to obtain them," he said. "One can't have prisoners escaping unchecked. It mars the reputation."

"Yes, Lord Erevain." Tandy bowed, her long hair touching the floor.

He twisted a strand of pale hair around his finger. "You know, this land would not have endured the destruction it did if not for the dark elves." She rose, and he casually put a long-fingered, delicately boned hand on her head.

"Yes, my lord."

His lip curled, ever so slightly. Obedient little lapdog she was, hunger in her eyes at the merest sight of him. The desire to be one of the People was so strong in her that she would lick the salt off of his hand if he wished. He folded his hands behind his back and paced. He decided to give her a history lesson. "Did you know that these lands used to belong to our People?"

"Yes, my lord."

"These Shaaryans are nothing more than vermin infesting our land." His intense, blue and gold flecked eyes flashed. "They expect us to retreat to Evermeet. My people will not leave behind their land. These are our lands. We were here before humans were more than superstitious savages rolling in filth." He looked over his shoulder and gave her a chill smile. "Would you like to prove your devotion to your people?"

"Anything, my lord."

"Bring me the Illithyri you say you lost. Bring him before me. Let me give him a taste of the revenge my people owe his kind for the destruction of this land."

She looked up at him with liquid adoration in her eyes. "Instill in him a fear of the power of Good."

He patted her head affectionately. "Indeed I will. And then…you will be allowed to join your people."

The sorceress gaped. "Before I have finished ridding this land of its inhabitants?"

He chuckled. "Yes. To give you extra motivation to get the job done quickly. I must have these lands before my people retreat to the Isle of Elves. We must show them that the time is not to retreat, but to reclaim the lands stolen from us over the centuries by the Mud People."

"I will bring the dark elf to you myself!"

He chuckled again at her enthusiasm. How charmingly stupid these part elven, part human aberrations were. "I know you will." He patted her on the head. "Until then, I bid you ado. I will send a messenger with the resources you need." He wrapped his fine cloak around himself and teleported, disappearing in an instant.

The red-haired sorceress returned to her scrying eagerly, all thoughts of daydreaming the afternoon away forgotten. If she could find and take that dark elf in to her master herself, without his aid, how much prouder would he be! He might even consent to let her take on the form of a gold elf, like himself.


	4. Chapter 4: Accidents Happen

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

As he calmed himself and considered the meeting, Entreri silently berated himself. His frustration was beginning to wear at the edges of perfection. He could not have been more obvious about the roots of his problem than to so eagerly ask about purchasing Charon's Claw. Above all else, that weapon and gauntlet combination had been designed to battle wizards.

And psionicists, perhaps?

For those were Entreri's tormentors, Rai-guy and Kimmuriel – Jarlaxle's Bregan D'aerthe lieutenants – one a wizard and one a psionicist. Entreri hated them both, and profoundly, but more importantly he knew that they hated him. To make things worse Entreri understood that his only armor against the dangerous pair was Jarlaxle himself. While to his surprise he had cautiously come to trust the mercenary dark elf, he doubted Jarlaxle's protection would hold forever.

Accidents did happen, after all.

(7)

**Chapter 4**

Accidents Happen

--

Jarlaxle was looking for the perfect people to ensnare into accepting him as part of their group. Human weaknesses were so much more obvious than drow ones. As opposed to work, this felt more like a game, a relaxation. He sat by the window, drinking his wine and slowly eating a partridge, restraining a grin as he glanced at the people coming in the door. The Waterbridge Deli, Bakery, and Inn was a wonderful place in Yieldbrook, a well-to-do town on a local road to Silverymoon. It wasn't on a map, but that was what ingenuity was for. He'd found it and soon traced it to a small village where he could ask of the road's origin and intent. He had no doubts that Artemis would not find the road_. Ah, Artemis, where are you now?_ Jarlaxle thought affectionately. He swirled the wine in his glass.

He tuned in an ear to the conversation at the front counter, where his selected subjects where sitting on stools and eating their lunches. He had known they were the people the moment they walked in. It was a vibration like a tuning fork and a pull like a dowsing rod. His intuition was instantly drawn to them.

The blonde man on the far left was Ryan, a ranger or a fighter judging by the homespun clothing and the sword at his side. He smiled often and seemed quiet – hardly remarkable. A milquetoast, in Jarlaxle's estimation. A man who wouldn't take charge if his life depended on it. That amused him. It was perfectly tailor-made.

Jarlaxle glanced at Ryan's companions. They were less obvious reads, and therefore harder for a human to take advantage of, but he saw through them. Their names were Barak and Layla – odd, amusing human names.

Layla, the one standing, had a perpetual half-smirk. She was a broad, muscular woman with wide hips and ragged dark hair cropped at the shoulder. For a human female, she was decidedly masculine, and wore that trait like a badge. She wasn't obviously armed, which Jarlaxle knew meant she was armed to the nines.

The last, Barak, was a stout, shorter man with an enormous mustache and beard. His ruddy face was framed by long braids of brown hair, and his armor and axe suggested a blunt personality. Jarlaxle thought he looked like an aspiring dwarf. He was doubtless some barbarian or native area clansman. He looked a perfect match for the rugged ponies Entreri had bought.

Jarlaxle waited patiently, feigning indifference, and had almost finished his lunch by the time the group's conversation finally turned around to him. At last. Soon they would see he was the only important thing to talk about.

"A drow? Walking around in daylight?" Ryan put down his mug and turned around.

"Yes," Barak said. He jerked his head towards the front of the inn.

"Layla?" Ryan said, looking her way.

She shrugged. "Why not? I'll go talk to him if you don't want to talk to him."

Ryan shrugged in return. Jarlaxle saw, as he predicted, an utter lack of decision making skills and subservience to her stronger personality. They had already slipped into a routine. Ryan wouldn't oppose a thing she did.

She walked over, looking almost as if she were sauntering because of her big hips. She bent over slightly to talk to the elf. "Hey."

Jarlaxle blinked at her. "Yes, lady?" He didn't want to appear eager at all. Her comfort zone was in making other people feel pushed and pressured.

Then she sat at his table. "What're you doing here?" she asked, friendly enough.

"That's a familiar way to address a stranger," Jarlaxle said, giving her an amused smile. "You also don't seem concerned with invading my space."

"It's a free bar."

"I wasn't saying anything about the bar." Jarlaxle paused, took off his hat, and passed a hand over his bald head. "You want to ask me something. What is it?"

"I asked it," Layla said. Her smile didn't reveal any of her thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

Jarlaxle raised his wine glass. "You said yourself it is a bar. I am sitting, sipping, and thinking."

"Would you like to do something else?"

He gazed at her intently over the rim of his wine glass, poised to drink. "Are you suggesting…?"

"We're going on an adventure," Layla said. She nodded her head at her companions. "We've been looking for a fighter. You're a fighter, aren't you?"

Jarlaxle gave her a bemused expression. "Why would you say that?"

"All male drow are fighters, aren't they?"

Jarlaxle set down his glass, looking embarrassed and not sure if he should be offended. "My people are fighters, yes, but that doesn't mean that's where my specialty lies."

"You're lying," Layla said pleasantly, leaning back and nudging his foot with her own. "I can tell." Her smile broadened.

"How?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Your hand is on your dagger right now."

Jarlaxle removed his hand from the dagger he'd hidden in behind the folds of his cloak and put his hand on the table. "You're very perceptive. Thief or ranger?"

"Rogue," Layla said.

"My pardon," Jarlaxle said.

"No offense taken."

Jarlaxle saw Ryan and Barak exchange glances. They were both amused and uncomfortable. Jarlaxle realized her overtures were something they saw as overly bold, even embarrassing to them, but neither one of them wanted to get in her way. Ryan because he couldn't and Barak because he agreed with the rogue's decision to add a drow to their party.

"I see your friends over there looking at us," Jarlaxle said. He nodded at them and raised his glass. Then he took a sip and set his wine glass down.

Layla propped her elbows on the table and slouched forward, cupping her chin in her hands. "Observant."

"What do you call yourselves?" Jarlaxle asked.

"The Gilded Lily." She smirked. "As in, don't gild the lily."

Jarlaxle made a slightly suffering expression. "I can't say I know what that means."

She chuckled. "It means, don't make things appear better than they are."

"Oh." Jarlaxle blinked. He supposed that was both an unfortunate name and sign of his times. "I see." He paused carefully. "That is a good motto for the adventuring business. Where are you going?"

"You might be scared," Layla teased. "You're not a fighter, after all."

"What if I am?" Jarlaxle asked, feigning being put out. "I am good enough to hold my own."

"It's an underground city," Layla said. "You'll have to associate with all sorts of unsavory types."

_They couldn't be going to Skullport._ "There are no underground cities around here," Jarlaxle said.

"There's one over there," Layla said, pointing to the west. She grinned devilishly and leaned in as though to share a good secret. "We're going to Waterdeep. A friend of a friend owes us some money, but, you see, there's one catch…"

"Don't tell me," Jarlaxle said quickly. "I don't want to know."

She leaned back and laughed. "Right answer. Name's Layla. Pleased to meet you, fellow adventurer." She stuck out her hand.

He attempted to shake it. She caught his hand and guided it to her wrist, and she clasped his. Then she let go. "You're new, aren't you?"

Jarlaxle hoped he could still do his best impression of dismayed youth. "Is it that obvious?" _Please don't let her also be able to tell the age of an elf,_ he thought_._

"Your price tag is practically showing," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'd swear you were bought new from a souvenir shop just outside the Underdark."

Jarlaxle stopped a muscle tick in his right eyebrow. _She is a stupid, insolent fool. _

He calmed himself. _So much the better. She could have saved her party members from a fate of being manipulated by a drow noble, but she chose not to by looking down on her betters, and now this happens. _

She interpreted his silence as being crestfallen. She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. He gave her a bewildered look. "Don't worry. We'll take care of you. You'll learn the ways up here soon enough."

Jarlaxle felt astonishingly like Drizzt. _Is this what a drow immigrant faces?_ he wondered. _It's ridiculous. It's hard. It's…bewildering._ _I feel like a pet insect._

He gave her his most melting-sweet smile. "You are kind."

She stood immediately. "No I'm not. I'm just a pragmatist. I can't have the person I'm trying to recruit go die on me."

_Don't claim to be a pragmatist, you silly cow,_ Jarlaxle thought. "You are kind," he insisted.

Layla avoided answering that accusation by waving over her companions. They left late that same afternoon, conversing quickly about their plans and gathering supplies, which, unsurprisingly, became delegated to Ryan.

Jarlaxle modified Artemis' original plan for his own purposes. He would follow these adventurers to Skullport, enduring their company for the safety it afforded him, and abandon them in Skullport, where his heritage would be as overlooked as the other drow doing business there. He would probably start a new base of Bregan D'aerthe, working his way up through drow contacts until he gained enough prestige to command some employee respect. Then he'd begin structuring his little band to suit his needs. Once he gained enough power and prestige, he would have the money to commission a device that would allow him to make contact with Kimmuriel again. Once contact was re-established, and he had a new base of operations in Skullport – who knows? – he might even be able to contact Artemis Entreri again and strike up a new business deal. It was all going to work out.

* * *

The sun beat straight overhead in the Shaar, flattening everything with its heat. In the harsh midday sun, Tandy's isolated tower cast no shadow on the barren plain that surrounded it.

Inside, the richly decorated corridors were cool. That morning, the sorceress had finally contacted some craftsmen from Waterdeep. For a handsome sum, she had replaced the stone statue that had been marred by her drow prisoner's acid wand when it exploded on contact with her trap. Now a nearly identical one stood in its place.

She was in her study, attempting in vain to locate the fugitives in her crystal ball when a silent spurt of magic from across the room made her look up.

A male moon elf in her lord's livery stood by the door, holding a crystal cut from lapis-lazuli bigger than his head.

The sorceress stood up immediately. "Greetings."

"Milady." The elf inclined his head. "I have a message from Lord Erevain, and this object to deliver."

"Please, tell me your message," Tandy said, inclining her head in return.

"My dear Lady Jedra," the elf began. "I hope to find you well this day. I have acquired an object I think will help you in searching out those craven individuals that have so troubled you in the past days. Please, take this scrying focus as a token of my faith in you. – Lord Erevain."

Tandy gasped and gingerly took the egg-shaped crystal from the messenger's hands. She cradled the blue-violet scrying focus to her bosom as if the ostrich sized-tool had real life inside it. "It's gorgeous," she said in hushed tones, staring into its depths. Her gaze snapped up to the messenger insecurely. "You will tell Lord Erevain it's beautiful?"

The liveried elf bowed to her.

"I mean it," she said, and swallowed a lump in her throat. "I will keep it in good care until he asks for its return."

"No return, milady," the elf said. "He wished to give it to you as a gift."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "No, I couldn't."

"Milord Erevain insisted…"

That gave Tandy Jedra pause. Even she knew, for all her worship of the man, that Lord Erevain's wishes were not lightly tread upon for fear of his anger. "I will keep it in greatest trust," she whispered.

The messenger bowed again. "I will tell him." He retreated into the hovering cloud of dew and was gone. The cloud of mist itself soon dissipated into golden sparkles and disappeared.

Tandy was left holding the priceless scrying focus to her chest. She rocked it back and forth gently, like a baby, staring down into its rich depths. "With you, I shall do as he asks." She hesitated, and then stroked it, once, as if she were afraid her fingerprints would mar the glossy surface.

Then she set it on the desk. After going back to her rooms and carrying her beloved crystals in her arms, she gathered the entire load of scrying crystals in a kerchief. She tied the corners and carried her bundle to the scrying tower.

In the barren stone room, she arranged her crystals around the egg shaped focus and sat on the floor crosslegged. She began to meditate. Her crystals could not reach beyond the Shaar by themselves, but Lord Erevain's beautiful gift amplified the distance she could travel in her mind's eye many times over. She wouldn't have to use her weak crystal ball to search the North lands any longer. Her crystal ball only let her see, not interact. With Lord Erevain's gift, she could stretch her powers all the way to where her enemies stood and seize upon any creatures she encountered.

_You will not keep me from becoming my rightful form. No matter where you hide, I will find you. Hide in any nook and cranny. I will find you. And when I am an elf, Lord Erevain will love me. _

* * *

Artemis rode hard and arrived at a town only a few hours after setting out. He asked around for a wizard, but all they could do was point him in the direction he was going and give him the vague description, "Pariseval. He's a wizard."

He set off without stopping to catch his breath or do more than let his steed get a mouthful of bran and a quick rub down. Then he was at the next town a few hours later, in the early afternoon. Same story. Pariseval, go the way he was going. He came to the next town in the late afternoon, ready for a rest, and ready to let his horse do the same.

Artemis located a likely looking tavern and went inside.

He still stood, melting snow on his boots, when he gestured to the barmaid on duty. "Something warm."

"We have cider," she said. "I'll get ye a cup o' that and sit you down." She came back in just a moment, appropriately quick given that he was her only customer, and handed him the mug. He pulled off his gloves. It was reassuringly warm in his hands.

"What brings ye, traveler?" the barmaid asked. She was friendly and rugged, with muscles showing on her arms and a ruddy, apple-cheeked face with bedraggled hair swept back in a bun. "I be Lera."

Artemis sat down with his mug of mulled cider. He sipped the hot, foamy liquid for a moment before answering. "I have heard of a wizard in these parts named Periseval."

"Periseval is a crotchety old graybeard," Lera said. "I don't know why ye would want him."

"I need him," Artemis said politely. "I am looking for somebody."

Lera waved a hand, her dishrag flapping. "Then go see 'im." She sighed. "'E's the only one around here who can summon demons, that's for sure."

"Where does he live?"

"The corner of town. South east of here. Ye can tell it's him by the trees an' the hedges. 'E likes his privacy."

"Thank you for your information." He got up from the table and left the tavern as soon as he had finished his cider, leaving a handful of copper on the table. The cider didn't cost much, and she had been helpful. He should at least make it worth her while.

He found the old cottage on the south east edge of town, flanked by old hedges and small coniferous trees just as the barmaid had said. He followed the flagstone path to the front doorway and knocked.

"Who's there?" a reedy voice answered.

"A customer."

"I don't have customers," the voice said decidedly.

"Well, you do now."

The door opened.

Artemis stepped inside and found that the wizard was even older than they had rumored. He was 300 at least, a skinny, crooked old man bent almost double with old age, draped in thick blue robes against the cold. His face was wrinkled and drawn, like a dried prune with a big nose sticking out of it. His beard almost reached his knees. He wore a fur-trimmed conical hat that matched his robes.

"Yes? Who are you?" the wizard demanded.

Artemis held out a small bag out gold coins. "I am a traveler in search of a quarry."

Periseval took his gold and then shuffled into the interior of the house. Artemis followed him. They went through a small, cramped kitchen, an ordinary living room with blankets and cats strewn around two old sofas, and came to a bare room with remains of chalk symbols on the wooden floorboards. "You want me to summon a demon, eh?"

"That is why I came," Artemis said carefully and evenly.

"Well, you came to the right place," Periseval said, kicking the clearest, light blue lines and smudging them further. "I'm the only one around here who can do what you ask."

"So I have heard," Artemis said.

"Well, give me his name."

"His?" The assassin frowned warily.

"You don't look like you're in search of a woman," the wizard retorted, turning around and glowering at him from under bushy eyebrows.

Artemis relaxed, and nodded. "Jarlaxle."

"Is that the name?"

Artemis nodded.

"Alright, we'll see what we can do." The wizard made scolding noises, reached down and obliterated the last of the old chalk lines, and rolled up his sleeves. He got down on his knees painstakingly and pulled out a piece of red chalk. He started chalking a line, muttering to himself. It might have been a spell, for he drew a perfect circle, though his hands were trembling and probably arthritic. He drew out a bright yellow piece of chalk and began drawing symbols inside the circle. Artemis watched patiently, listening to the rhythmic tapping of the chalk against the floorboards. Periseval stood, groaning, and finally took out a bright green piece of chalk. He moved and began drawing symbols around the outside of the circle.

He finished and turned back to Artemis. He saw the assassin's intent staring and said, "Green is for us." He pointed to the outside. "Yellow…is for them." He pointed to the inside of the circle.

He rubbed his hands together and let out a wheezing cackle. "Now, shall we begin? You're not faint of heart, are you?"

"No."

The wizard began to chant.

Presently, smoke curled up from the floor, curling up in a column. It reached the borders of the chalk circle and did not escape it. When the smoke cleared, there was a little gray creature with wings there. It had a bulbous belly and a piglike snout, with two sharp fangs on its bottom jaw protruding past its lips.

Artemis' lip curled. A demon. Ugly things. He didn't care to see them, but he needed them now.

"Come, creature," Periseval intoned, raising his hands in an arcane gesture, "what is your name?"

"Dervix," the little creature grunted. "Who wants to know?"

"Never you mind, Dervix, oh minor demon," Periseval said. "I come to you with a request for information."

"What do I get?" Dervix asked, looking at the wizard sullenly.

"A rest," Periseval said.

The demon looked angry. Still, it said, "What kind of information?"

"Find the location of the one called… 'Jarlaxle'. Tell us where he is and which way he travels. As soon as you have the information, come and tell us."

Dervix snarled and disappeared in a column of smoke.

"Demons are usually pretty quick," Periseval confided.

Artemis couldn't keep the disgusted look from his face. "How quickly qualifies as quickly?"

"I'd say half an hour, maybe less."

The wizard had no sooner spoken than the demon returned. Periseval, surprised, took a step back. "What do you want?"

Dervix looked smug. "I have some bad news, wizard. That was too easy. Some others have been asking for him, and I just attained the location from my comrades. It seems he's in the area. South-west of here, in Yieldbrook, traveling westerly."

Artemis gave Periseval a sharp look, and that was all it took for the wizard to turn back to the demon and demand, "Who else is looking for this man?"

"Two people," Dervix said, looking positively pleased. He grinned, revealing more fangs. Artemis wanted to stab him. "One Gestalt Xemon'erag, and one Tandy Jedra."

Artemis jerked his head backwards in surprise.

Periseval demanded, "And who are these people?"

Dervix shrugged. "I'd not tell you, but the information was too easy to come by, so it's not like I worked for it. Xemon'erag is some drow, Menzoberranzan. That Jedra is a sorceress in the Shaar. That's all I know."

"Begone, demon!"

Dervix sneered and made a rude gesture, turning around and wiggling his behind at them. "I thought you'd never ask." He disappeared the way he'd come, a column of smoke that dissipated when he was gone.

_Damnit, Jarlaxle,_ Artemis thought. He was surprised to find that he was so dismayed. _Tandy is after you, and now some drow. Why would they be after you? Is it someone from your band trying to make contact with you?_ He realized that it was only too possible. He nodded to himself slowly.

"I will go now," Artemis said aloud.

Periseval sniffed. "Well, you can't stay here."

Artemis gave him a look. "I thank you for your services, not for your sarcasm."

He left, pulling his cloak tightly around him once more. He returned to the inn to take his horse. Lera was by the stable, carrying water from the inn's well inside. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked.

His first instinct was to ignore her. Entreri let his horse out of the stall and mounted it, spurring the steed into a tired gallop. Then, her role in finding Jarlaxle changed his mind. He turned over his shoulder just as his horse began to run. "Yes."

She looked up at him again, and he caught a flash of her face, pleasant, apple-cheeked, reddened by the cold – before he was down the street and she was inside with her water, back to her life.

Almost two streets away, his horse began to flag. He stroked his mount's neck absently and dismounted, leading the steed to the nearest shop, a local trade post. He'd pushed his horse too hard.

He exchanged his horse for a fresh one, wishing he could exchange his body for a refreshed one as well, and left town immediately. Only when he was already riding into the forest did he look at his map to locate Yieldbrook. There was no such place on his map. He cursed. _Jarlaxle, so help me, if one or the other finds you before I do, I'm going to…_

Part of him wondered why his heart was beating so fast and why his hands shook on the horse's reins. _I want to get my hands on him first,_ Artemis thought defiantly. _I deserve to punish him more than anyone else. I am his partner. Partners do not leave Artemis Entreri behind._

Steeled by this thought, he pushed his horse faster.

* * *

Guilt was a word that Jarlaxle had become accustomed to in his studies of humans but it was not a word he was accustomed to understanding. Guilt – the emotion, not the assignment of wrongdoing –was a feeling as though one had done something wrong without any proof to corroborate that feeling.

It was distracting Jarlaxle.

"What?" he said, tilting his head as the conversation of his new companions briefly became louder than the voices inside his head.

"We're going to be in Silverymoon the day after tomorrow," Ryan said. "You'll love it." That assurance was more like a matter of fact brochure than actual belief. "It's one of the largest cities of the north. We don't have many."

They had been traveling for a day now, and Jarlaxle's sense of the surreal had grown stronger every minute. He was traveling with a group of unfamiliar people to an unfamiliar city, separated from his band and from his only proven ally. He realized again with a jolt that he had no magical safeguards and no endless supply of daggers to defend himself with. The horror of the situation benumbed him, only to sting him again later. He was having trouble coming to grips with his own helplessness.

_You still have your brains,_ he reminded himself grimly.

"Have you been to one of our cities before?" Layla asked.

Jarlaxle smiled at her, puzzled. "I have been to Yieldbrook. Is that not a city?"

Layla laughed. "That is a speck of dust compared to Silverymoon. You're going to be so surprised."

Jarlaxle had a vivid flash of creeping into her bedroom the night they arrived at Silverymoon and cutting her throat. _So will you,_ he thought. "I hope it won't be too…unfriendly."

"Oh, they'll be open to the idea of drow, there," Layla said. "They do trade with the worshippers of Elistraee. And you've got Drizzt Do'Urden to thank for cleaning up the image of the drow rogue. You'll do fine."

"I am still worried," Jarlaxle confessed, inwardly rolling his eyes.

Layla gave him a warm smile he already found infuriating. "Don't worry. We'll take care of you."

Jarlaxle didn't miss the fact that Barak and Ryan exchanged glances at this declaration. "I am grateful," he said again.

"Don't mention it," Layla said again.

Disgusted by his poor company, the mercenary turned back to his own thoughts. _I don't have to feel guilty,_ Jarlaxle argued with himself. _I have not done anything wrong. Artemis – no, Entreri – should expect this. I have been a great help to him. He owed me much – and he has paid it. He saved my life. There is nothing more to be discussed between us at this time. I can't help him in my current state, and he doesn't have any use for weakness. It makes sense that I would leave and come back when I am once again useful. That is the way of Jarlaxle. A steady ebb and flow of commerce, relying on his own wits. It is nothing to be ashamed of. _

He masked his rage at himself with a bright smile. _Why do I feel this way?_

"Why are you smiling?" Layla asked.

"Oh, I am thinking of the splendors of Silverymoon," Jarlaxle said. "It must be beautiful."

"It is," Layla said. She proceeded to fill his ears with descriptions of the city.

He listened no more than half the time, still caught up in his problems.

* * *

Artemis had just barely missed Jarlaxle in Yieldbrook. He asked around and quickly found out that he and a new set of companions of his were traveling to Silverymoon. He was numb from the cold and the seemingly endless ride, and he was becoming inured to the exertion.

He switched horses again without resting, not daring to rest, and headed for Silverymoon. He was less than half a day behind.

The forest was pitch dark at night save for the ghostly light from the moon reflecting on the snow. It emitted a light that reminded him of the phosphorous mosses of the Underdark. His senses were heightened, causing him to react to any little thing, but his head swam. He almost fell off of his horse at the passage of an owl overhead.

"Hold yourself together," he growled. Artemis felt his nose begin to run, staining the scarf over his mouth with mucous, but he didn't dare to let his hands off the reins. Artemis could feel his fingers growing steadily number, and he clenched the reins with increasing force.

_I cannot let them beat me. I am Artemis Entreri! The greatest assassin that ever lived!_

The small, unsettling voice that came from the back of his mind sent cold fingers down his spine. _But what does that mean?_ it said.

He recognized a moment later that the small voice was Jarlaxle. Incredibly, he felt a burning anger spread out throughout his limbs, and he let out a roar. "Screw you! Screw you, and Drizzt, and all other drow! Stop interfering with my life!"

His assassin's senses recoiled in alarm, warning him that anything in the night could have heard him in a silent, desolate place such as this, and with Jarlaxle in possession of the fire scrolls, if trolls descended upon him, he would be doomed.

But he felt reckless, and white-hot. He dared anybody to come out of the darkness. He would cut them down so brutally they would wish they had never been born.

Minutes passed, and nothing came out of the dark. Artemis' mind, that little voice, spoke again. _Why are you doing this? _

Artemis felt suddenly beset by despair. He bowed his head. _I don't have an answer. Don't. Leave me alone._

The onset of self pity in himself, the insidious trap of his depression, was too hideous to bear. He would not allow it. Artemis forced himself to raise his head. "I am coming to punish him. He is my quarry, nothing more. Jarlaxle is worthless. He is no different than any other ally I have had. Self-centered, short-sighted, fickle as the wind. The winds have changed, and now I am pursuing him."

His memory of what happened after he was captured – abandoned, his companion unconscious and barely breathing, his escape barred – socked him in the gut. _I could have betrayed you, but I didn't. _He wished he could say those words to Jarlaxle, say them to his face, and ask him why. _Why did you betray me? I didn't ever do anything wrong._

His vision blurred.

He stood before the sorceress on the polished floor, Jarlaxle broken and bleeding on the carpet, acid foully steaming, he had just begged for Jarlaxle's life…

He couldn't tear his eyes away from Jarlaxle's helpless body. "What are you going to do with him?"

The red-haired sorceress was silent.

He fidgeted, and then hunched his shoulders, turning to her in reproach. "He's going to die."

The sorceress made an arcane gesture, and Jarlaxle's body lifted into the air as if on invisible strings. His head lolled.

Artemis felt a powerful urge to snatch him out of the air, a protest on his lips.

Tandy crooked a finger, and brought Jarlaxle closer to her. "I ought to throw him away," she said, examining his head injury. "His warranty's expired. He'll be lucky if he wakes up a vegetable."

Artemis could hardly control himself, much less his voice. "That is why you will do something."

Tandy looked at him, both eyebrows raised. "What am I supposed to do? Do I look like a healer?"

Artemis almost sank to his knees, and then surged forward in anger. "Then get a healer! Do I look like I care?"

The sorceress snorted. "You, sir, look hysterical at losing your traveling companion. Is he that dear to you? A drow? Is this some joke? I fear he's brainwashed you."

Artemis turned his head, trembling. "I'll show you hysterical…"

A couple of men in red and black livery came from a nearby hallway.

"My guards will escort you to a room," Tandy said coldly. "Try to be comfortable. I don't take vows of servitude lightly."

She turned to go. With an idle gesture, she brought Jarlaxle floating after her in tow.

"Where are you taking him?" Entreri demanded. The guards grabbed him, one at each side, to keep him from going after her.

"I'll take good care of him. You just see to recovering from whatever conditioning this drow did to you. I need you with a clear head." The sorceress gave him a smile of false cheer over her shoulder.

Artemis gave a start. He'd slipped into a sort of waking dream. He couldn't remember having closed his eyes. _I must focus,_ he told himself. Against his better senses, he let go of the reins with one gloved hand to massage his eyes. He could feel the bruises under them begin to grow puffy and ache.

"I have to rest soon," he muttered. "Not even the night air is keeping me awake." The night usually woke him up and made him more alert. He had trained for over a decade to be awake during the night. His body usually geared up, thrilling with reserved energy. Now, even his reserves of adrenaline were failing him.

_I have to make it to the next town,_ he argued. _Then I can rest._ He hoped his bargain with his body would last.

In spite of himself, his mind drifted back to what he'd been thinking about before he suddenly dozed off in the saddle. _I was thinking about Jarlaxle's capture…_He had tried to put it out of his mind even when it was happening. Why was he remembering all of this now? It was useless. Pointless.

He was compelled to dwell on what had happened almost immediately after Jarlaxle had been healed by Tandy's associates. He had been allowed into the room a few hours later, after a trio of human clerics exited the room talking amongst themselves. He had found Jarlaxle as he would be for weeks: motionless in bed.

But, he had woken up at Artemis' touch.

Entreri's eyes widened, seeing not the darkened forest, but that room. He had forgotten what had happened when he had first come into the room. He had seen Jarlaxle lying in the ornate four poster bed, eyes closed. Jarlaxle had a bandage wrapped around his head, stained with blood. He had come close, reached out with unbelieving fingers, touched the bandage…

The drow groaned, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. Shaking, he opened his eyes. "Matron?" Artemis pulled his hand back.

"No," Artemis said brusquely. He wondered at how quickly his anger covered up the spurt of fear he'd felt at hearing that word from Jarlaxle's mouth.

Jarlaxle lifted his head from the pillows.

"Don't sit up. You have a concussion."

"I do not."

Before Artemis could grab his shoulder and shove him back down, Jarlaxle sat up. His pupils turned to pinpoints. He threw up all over the carpet until he dry heaved and collapsed onto the bed. "I guess I do," he said, and his head rolled limply to the side, out cold.

Artemis wanted to shake him until he woke up again.

_That's not much different from how I feel now,_ Artemis thought. _I definitely want to shake him. I want to kill him for betraying me. _

The assassin tried to focus, coaxing himself to stay awake with promises of bed, and warm clothing, and staying long enough to have food at the inn he came to. It was no good. In his exhausted, hyper-vigilant state, his mind latched onto things of its own will.

Left mostly alone in the tower of his captor, stalking the hallways restlessly always accompanied by liveried guards, he had been angry. He had blamed Jarlaxle for the situation he was in, for his unnecessary capture, for the way that Tandy and her cohorts treated him. Jarlaxle only woke up a few days out of the week, even though it had been a month since he and Entreri had been captured. Artemis wanted to break loose. He was being tied down by Jarlaxle's weakness. He'd even entertained thoughts of smothering Jarlaxle with a pillow in his sleep so that he wouldn't be plagued by the fears that Jarlaxle wouldn't recover, even if he allowed Jarlaxle to rest for years.

That had changed when Jarlaxle had woken up the next time.

Artemis came to visit him again, when he felt reasonably in control of his urge to kill the drow and jump out of the nearest window. He pulled up a chair and watched Jarlaxle, not moving until his companion showed signs of waking up. Then he straightened in his seat expectantly.

Jarlaxle stirred sluggishly, waking up in a disoriented state.

"My head feels like a dwarven smithy," Jarlaxle growled.

"You're sick," Artemis said.

"Sick? Then where is Rai-guy? Tell him to get his Lloth-loving ass down here," Jarlaxle said, head lolling miserably in pain against his pillow. The bandages had been removed, and the wound had healed, but Artemis judged it would be a long time before pain from the event began to fade.

"He's dead," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle almost got up right then and there. He hissed in pain, sucking air through his gritted teeth, and sank back down. "Dead? How dare they? They'll pay for this! Who killed him?"

"You did," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle lay in bed, a quiet, profound confusion on his face. His eyes were glazed over with pain. "Why would I do that?" he mumbled.

"He tried to kill you," Artemis said.

"I can take that," Jarlaxle said. "He never liked me anyway." His brow furrowed. "But why would he make me kill him?"

"He tried to take Bregan D'aerthe from you," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle turned livid, clenching his fists. "That bastard! I'll kill him!"

"You did," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle fell back to the bed again, relaxing. "Good man."

Artemis froze, looking at him disbelievingly.

"I can always count on you to give me good news." Jarlaxle turned over and went to sleep.

Those words, even though Jarlaxle spoke them carelessly, struck something odd inside Artemis. He felt strange.

And now Artemis remembered those feelings in his stomach, making him feel sick. He growled. They were weak. They were weak feelings. They would undo him.

His hands tightened on the reins, and a fleck of snow that landed on the back of his neck melted instantly against the sudden heat of his anger. He should kill Jarlaxle for turning him into this. It was the drow's manipulations that had turned him into this…this…pathetic excuse for a man! He was no one to be gullible enough to trust a drow. He didn't trust anybody.

But moments later, his anger fled, leaving him cold. _I did,_ he said quietly to himself. _I did trust you._

He remembered something he'd thought long ago. He smiled. It had been less than a year since the crystal shard had undone Jarlaxle's dreams of empire, but it felt as though it happened to a completely different person. His words were the only thing that consoled him now, wet and shivering from the snow, riding through an unfamiliar forest at the heels of his friend.

Accidents happen.


	5. Chapter 5: False Power

Excerpt from R.A. Salvatore's Starless Night:

Once past the fence, the mercenary replaced the spider mask in a pouch and walked nonchalantly through the Baenre compound, keeping his telltale hat low on his back and his cloak tight about his shoulder, hiding the fact that he wore a sleeveless tunic. He couldn't hide his bald head, though, an unusual trait, and he knew that more than one of the Baenre guards recognized him as he made his way casually to the house's great mound, the huge and ornate stalagmite wherein resided the Baenre nobles.

Those guards didn't notice, though, or pretended not to, as they had likely been instructed. Jarlaxle nearly laughed aloud; so many troubles could have been avoided just by his going through a more conspicuous gate to the compound. Everyone, Triel included, knew full well he would be there. It was all a game of pretense and intrigue, with Matron Baenre as the controlling player.

"_Z'ress_!" the mercenary cried, the drow word for strength and the password for this mound, and he pushed on the stone door, which retracted immediately into the top of its jamb.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the unseen guards (probably huge minotaur slaves, Matron Baenre's favorites) as he passed along the narrow entry corridor, between several slits, no doubt lined with readied death lances.

The inside of the mound was lighted, forcing Jarlaxle to pause and allow his eyes to shift back to the visible light spectrum. Dozens of female dark elves moved about, their silver-and-black Baenre uniforms tightly fitting their firm and alluring bodies. All eyes turned towards the newcomer – the leader of Bregan D'aerthe was considered a fine catch in Menzoberranzan – and the lewd way the females scrutinized him, hardly looking at his face at all, made Jarlaxle bite back a laugh. Some male dark elves resented such leers, but to Jarlaxle's thinking, these females' obvious hunger afforded him even more power.

(39-40)

**Chapter 5**

False Power

--

Jarlaxle and his companions arrived in Silverymoon that night. He was relieved that it was evening. He needed a night's sleep before he could appropriately fake appreciation for being dragged all the way across the city and back, as the humans planned to do to him the moment the sun was up.

But somehow he ended up with Layla in the common room of their inn after dark, mulling over a cup of hot cocoa. That was not a situation he fancied, either.

Layla said, "The others have gone to bed. What do you want to do?" She stirred her hot chocolate idly, but her fingers poised on the spoon were tense.

"I was thinking about turning in," Jarlaxle said cautiously, sipping his own and smearing a mustache of hot cocoa and whipped cream on his upper lip. He cursed at the indignity of his slip and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

"But this is your first night in Silverymoon." Layla pouted. "Surely you can think of something more interesting to do."

Jarlaxle saw the desire in Layla's eyes every time she glanced at him. He caught those glances, even those she thought she was masking. He had thought that she and Ryan were lovers when he first saw the group because of Ryan's deference to her. Now he saw Ryan didn't interest her…but he did, with his mixture of innocence and cleverness. Who he pretended to be interested her. She wanted to be dominant with an equal, and Ryan could never be that.

He had a decision. He could either acquiesce to her or refuse her. The thought of sex while he was this vulnerable made him sick to his stomach, because he had no way to ensure control. However, if he didn't play along with her desires, she would become frustrated and could easily make his journey to Skullport miserable. And Layla was the kind of willful, capricious woman who would. He knew it was in his best interests to accede to her demands. It was a matter of playing the game, the same game he'd played for centuries in Menzoberranzan. It was familiar. He should be able to perform at his best without any conscious effort. He could distance himself from the event.

However, he was resisting Layla's efforts at seduction because it was that very familiarity that so depressed him. He already knew he felt disillusioned with himself, and he felt vulnerable over his lack of magical tricks. Acquiescing to this willful woman's lust for him because he didn't have the resources to refuse would sink him even lower.

_But I don't have a choice._ Jarlaxle sighed. _The only thing is to give her what she wants before she becomes frustrated. She is lenient in regards to me now, but who knows what ways she might have to punish someone who won't give her what she wants. _He straightened. _It is only a temporary thing,_ he reminded himself. _When I get to Skullport, I will never have to see her again, and if I do, I will be in the proper position to manipulate her instead. _

All of that concluded, Jarlaxle tipped his head back and rested his feet on the table, hands folded over his stomach. It took him about three seconds to decide on his plan, and he still had enough time to come to terms with it. He wasn't playing the sort of eager, trusting youth who would jump at the chance to share beds with a beautiful lady. He had to act wary of being taken advantage of. "Well…I don't know." He gave her a slight smile, a shadow of his usual seductive grin, just enough to give her a taste. "Do you have anything you want to do?"

"Why don't we go back to my room and discuss it?" Layla retorted, returning a question with a question. She grinned.

"What's wrong with here?" Jarlaxle asked, smirking as though he enjoyed the prospect of this game.

"Do you not want to go up to my room?" Layla asked, leaning forward over her mug of hot chocolate and folding her hands underneath her chin.

"Do you not want to stay here and finish your hot chocolate?" Jarlaxle asked.

Layla's face momentarily screwed up in irritation and being uncustomarily beaten at her game, but it was premature, for her face soon cleared. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is there a reason why I should?"

Jarlaxle dodged that question's obvious temptation to answer. "You did pay for it, did you not?"

"Am I the kind of woman you think cares about spending a little frivolous money?" Layla asked, smiling sweetly.

Jarlaxle knew she felt certain she had won. He played along and widened his eyes. "Do I know you after three days?"

Layla raised her eyebrow again. "Will you let me show you how sincere I am?"

"Will you hurt me?"

They both stopped. Layla was staring at him, and Jarlaxle was frantically trying to figure out how to backpedal. He was so drawn into the game that he didn't realize his first reply was going to be so disastrously revealing. He had counted on his quick-witted responses to get him victory in this game. He'd never suspected his mind would play tricks on him now.

Jarlaxle shook his head. "I mean, how can I trust a woman I do not know?"

Layla rose from her chair and meandered around him. When she was directly behind him she stopped and took his hat by the brim, slipping it off and wrapping her arms around his chest. "What happened to you that made you hurt?" she whispered in his ear.

His breath almost caught in his throat from a mixture of fear and anticipation in response to her sudden sexual energy. "Why do you want to know?"

She stroked his cheek with one callused finger. Her breath tickled his ear. "Why don't you want to tell me?"

"Why should I want to tell anybody?" The stakes of this game were suddenly much higher than any game he wanted to play.

"Don't you want to feel better?" Layla asked, pressing her body against the back of his chair.

Jarlaxle couldn't keep the growl out of his voice at her impertinence. This stupid cow was going to tell him how to 'feel better' after a lifetime of being tortured? "_You_ can make me feel better?"

She rubbed her hands in circles on his chest and kissed the back of his head. "Do you want me to?"

Because he didn't know how to survive this journey without her support, because he had planned to play her game, and because he never ruined his plans without more than foolish emotional trivia as a reason, he said, "Yes." He let her win.

"Let's go up to my room."

He let her take his hand and lead him across the empty tavern room and up the stairs. He glanced back once, to look at their abandoned cups of hot chocolate. They sat on two consecutive wooden tables, half full and looking oddly lonely. He wiped his upper lip reflexively to make sure he had no hot chocolate there.

Feeling a sense of unreality, he let her lead him to her room. He was 132 again, allowing some female he was employed under to lead him back to her quarters. There was the same quiet, deserted feeling to the halls, as if people just out of sight were watching him. His skin crawled.

Jarlaxle hesitated when she shut the door behind him. The phantom touch of slow, nimble fingers up his leg nearly made him shiver. Everything he had learned in the past few centuries kept it down.

Layla turned to him. She looked at him with a gleam in her eye that showed she was misinterpreting his hesitation. She sidled up to him and took his wrists, guiding his hands to her breasts.

_Like any other time,_ a little voice in Jarlaxle's head said_. Like any other time._ Then a tiny response from him he almost didn't recognize as his own internal voice: _I'm scared._ He forced his suddenly frozen hands to caress her through her light leather armor. _But why am I so scared?_ He felt her nipples peak through supple leather and soft fabric. His bladder tightened.

Layla's eyes were half lidded. A smile curled around her full lips, coy and soft. "Suck them."

Layla lifted up the layers of fabric and leather, exposing her midriff and then her breasts. Her breasts were pale and covered in goosebumps, her nipples puckered and pink. He stared at them. He hardly realized that he leaned closer, mouth open. When he licked her breast he felt nothing. His eyes saw the light hairs dusted on Layla's skin and the contraction of her areolas and felt utter emptiness. He took her nipple into his mouth. The foreign flesh in his mouth meant nothing to him.

Layla hissed and clenched the front of his shirt. The sensation jerked Jarlaxle back into reality, out of his trace. He straightened with a burst of dizziness. Layla took him by the scarf around his neck and threw him to the bed. He landed on his back, thoughts scattered, and she followed him, yanking his scarf off with feverish hands and kissing his neck. He felt his lower body respond.

That was more alarming than he could have expected. His first instinct was to scramble out from under her. "I still –"

She placed a finger on his lips. "Shhh." Her hand slid down between his legs. "There is nothing to feel guilty for. I am the one who asked you, remember?" She sucked on his neck. "No one is going to accuse you of rape."

_Me accusing her? Is that what she thought I meant?_ Jarlaxle realized with widening eyes that she saw things through a cultural lens so different that she had assumed he feared punishment for performing a sexual act with her. His visceral response was relief at having not exposed his vulnerability after all and a deeper, more confusing fear at her ignorance.

She began undressing him. Her breaths quickened at the smooth skin of his torso. "You are so handsome." She smiled at him, trailed her fingers over his chest and played with his nipple.

A jumble of emotions hit him all at once. He felt dizzy and sick with her sitting on top of his stomach. He was cold, but bile was hot in his throat. The more he thought about what he was going to do, the more his head hurt and blood began to pound in his temples_. It's just like any other time,_ he protested. _A means to an end. A way of…surviving…my times._ But his body told him it wasn't like any of those other times. He snatched at his old rationale: It was normal, an unavoidable, pragmatic thing. A natural thing.

He sat up. He couldn't go through with it. He didn't know why he couldn't, but he couldn't make himself stay here in her bed and do it.

Layla, startled, fell backwards on the bed with a bump. "Jarlaxle?"

He quickly slapped her hand away from his erection.

"Wait," Layla said, reaching out to him with one hand.

He scooted away from her and jumped off of the bed, refastening his clothing around him with shaking fingers. "I only now remembered…I need my sleep." He snatched his hat from the floor where she had dropped it and backpedaled to the door.

Layla's expression was hurt. "What did I do wrong?"

He tipped his hat at her. "Good night." He practically fled to his own room, and he did lock the door, though he knew she could pick the lock in an instant.

He waited for her to come and bang the door down in the middle of the night, asking to be let in, but she never came. The silence he listened to for the next several hours was as unnerving as if she had come banging the door down. He listened to every small sound of the inn settling and the customers sleeping with a clenched stomach and that hot, disgustingly certain lump of bile in his throat, waiting for the moment he would be forced to submit to her.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Jarlaxle slipped out of his room in the Silverymoon inn. He passed the rooms of his traveling companions and heard nothing but sonorous snores. The morning sun had barely risen, a pale, hushed glow on the horizon. He could be alone; the humans would sleep for many hours yet.

He sought out the small, impoverished side of Silverymoon.

Jarlaxle meandered down an alleyway, his hands tucked in the folds of his clothing. The air breathed tiny flakes of snow against his cheek. In the early morning, everything was still and perfect. It both comforted and saddened him. His only companion was the sound of pristine snow crunched underfoot. He was alone in this deceptively perfect world of snow and sleeping people, but no more so than when the city burst to life, bustling under a midday sun. He was alone always. Everyone he had cared for was gone, and the one person who hadn't gone he had pushed away.

Perhaps he wouldn't be able to get Artemis back when the time was right. Perhaps the assassin would be angry. Jarlaxle felt a heavy weight of resignation on his chest. Did it really matter?

Jarlaxle had to force those thoughts away. He would not needlessly speculate. He must always focus on the present, and the present was that he was alone.

The mercenary frowned and tilted his head. Or not. He heard no noise but felt the prickling of fear on his spine and neck. He was being followed.

Jarlaxle stopped and turned.

Artemis emerged from the shadows.

Jarlaxle stared. _It's too soon. He doesn't know why I left, and I can't prove it to him. I have nothing to show him. I have no results. I have no power. I have no… _

"Artemis Entreri," Artemis said.

"What?"

"That's what your face tells me," the assassin said, grinning. "That's how people look at me when the thought races through their mindless existence: It's Artemis Entreri."

With chagrin, Jarlaxle tried to compose his face. He took a step back, his hand flying to the dagger up his sleeve. But what would he do with it? If he knew, he would have done more than just reach for it, he would throw it. But he didn't know what Artemis wanted, what Artemis could possibly want.

Artemis stepped forward, an amused look crossing his face as he closed the gap.

"You know, our business is over," Jarlaxle interjected to keep Artemis away.

The assassin was inexorable. "Where are your new friends? If they're really your friends, they should be here to help you."

"Would it do any good?"

"Of course not." Artemis shook his head. "But it would have been easier for me to get rid of you all in one attack, and I do so like life to be easy."

Jarlaxle backed up as though he merely resented the intrusion of his space, but his heart beat faster. His mouth was dry. _I am without my magic. I have no way to win. If I have to fight him hand to hand, I might lose._ The odds were not stacked in his favor. Artemis was as skilled as Drizzt, and Drizzt had been better than Zaknafein, someone Jarlaxle barely managed to win against because he held an edge. Where was his edge? "They're not really my friends, you know," he said as though he were not having these thoughts. "They're…acquaintances. I should think you of all people could tell the difference."

"Oh, be rest assured, my friend," Entreri said, underscoring that word. "I know what they really are. They're your pawns. Your tools. You just wanted to be away from me."

Jarlaxle laughed. "Away from you? Artemis, you exaggerate. I simply terminated our business arrangement. It's nothing personal."

Artemis stalked up to him until their faces were only a few inches from touching. He locked gazes with Jarlaxle, an almost intimate expression on his face. He reached up and took Jarlaxle's chin in his fingers.

Jarlaxle twisted, jerking his head away, but Artemis' fingers held. His heart was beating like a rabbit's, and his voice was arrested in his throat. There was a tightness in his chest he'd never felt before.

"You ran away," Artemis said. His smile was full of deceptive good humor.

"No."

Artemis' smile widened, now an obvious portent of bad things to come. "You won't like what I do to people that run away. I like my allies to stay put. I don't like cowards."

"And what are you planning to do?" Jarlaxle gave him a hard gaze. He was up against a wall, cornered, but he would never show his fear at the situation. He had to show that he was not intimidated. More than anything else, he was in control. He was always in control.

Artemis' expression was serene. "I hear it's extremely difficult to live with one's head disconnected from one's shoulders." His knife was suddenly against Jarlaxle's throat, nicking his chin because of the angle needed to get past Jarlaxle's thick scarves. "I suppose you'll find out soon enough if you don't tell me what I want to hear."

"What is that?" Jarlaxle asked, his voice strong.

Artemis gave him the least reassuring smile he'd ever seen. "I don't know…Perhaps an apology wouldn't hurt, and maybe a few pieces of empty flattery…I don't normally go for flattery, but you're so good at it." He gave Jarlaxle an unreadable expression. "You actually made me believe that you cared about you and me."

Jarlaxle laughed. "I am not a lover who has taken your bed for granted, and you are not a woman." The pressure against Jarlaxle's throat told him that Artemis almost slit his throat at those words, but Jarlaxle stopped him with a gaze. He could always hold back people like Artemis. He had power over them, even if they never came to understand what it was. He felt his confidence returning. Yes, Artemis was like Zaknafein. He had the force of personality to keep them in check.

"You are my business partner, and you are angry because I have decided I have no more business with you," Jarlaxle continued. "Move on. Find yourself a good home and churn out babies with some Matron. That's what you should be good for now. You're getting older. Too much older to go anywhere with me for much longer. I've done us both a favor, severing our relationship. I don't want dead weight, and you don't want to be dead weight."

Artemis Entreri stared at him. He looked shocked. Jarlaxle could see confusion playing across his eyes one moment and horror the next.

However, the truth was that Artemis was having an epiphany. Entreri now knew what had occurred. All this time, he had wondered why Jarlaxle hurt him, why Jarlaxle had run away without a word. Now he understood. It wasn't that Jarlaxle was trying to hurt him, or that Jarlaxle was a calculating, back-stabbing traitor. Jarlaxle was afraid.

To Artemis' way of thinking, Jarlaxle had spoken much more than disparaging words. In those words was the underlying assumption that even with Artemis' help, Jarlaxle was helpless. It was about Artemis' unnecessary death and Jarlaxle's vulnerability, not about some business decision to change companions.

Entreri had no doubt that Jarlaxle intended to be harsh – intended to drive him away with his words, reminding Artemis of his aging body and his solitary ways. But Artemis wasn't easily swayed by harsh words. He had received them all his life, and he didn't truthfully know any other language. Jarlaxle's attempt to drive him away was a return to his native language. This miscalculation on Jarlaxle's part revealed far more than a pragmatic comparison between his business partner and other, younger, humans. It betrayed a concern for his life that he hadn't heard voiced by anyone else in his entire adult life. To tell him that he had been given a favor by being cut loose – that was backhanded concern. One thing Artemis had always come to expect was that in each and every partnership situation, his partner in trouble would drag him down without a moment's hesitation.

Jarlaxle waited with baited breath. He was afraid that Artemis would change his mind, that this deadly silence signaled an internal system of checks and balances, and the assassin would soon discover it easy enough to kill his one-time drow partner after all. Jarlaxle was preparing for it. He was shaking, but he would never do anything so base as to beg. Not to the likes of Artemis Entreri. One as soft and indecisive as Drizzt might let him go, but not this man. Artemis would never forgive his betrayal.

And then, when he had decided that he was going to go down with a fight, Artemis' expression changed. Jarlaxle could see the change in his friend during this long period of silence. The assassin's brow smoothed, and he thought he even saw a hint of a smile on Entreri's face. Artemis Entreri was calm. Jarlaxle didn't know what this change signified.

"You're wrong," Artemis said. "I can protect you."

Jarlaxle twitched, stunned. He had been expecting anything but that. "I don't…where…did you get the idea I don't trust you?"

"I can protect you," Artemis repeated. He frowned at the drow. "Count on that. I do not make promises idly. We can defeat this sorceress. I have faith in our ability to work together. You and I, we understand each other. I can't say that about any other being, human or not. That allows us to work together. We can fight as one person, instead of separately. That makes us better than she is. We can win. All we need to do is prepare." He shook his head. "This time, she won't have any animals. This time, we won't be fighting her in her tower. She will have to come to us. Against her, and her alone, we can win. Our superior numbers can win."

Jarlaxle stared at him in awe. "Artemis…I believe this is the first time I've ever heard you speak more than one or two sentences about us as a partnership."

Artemis grunted and removed his knife from Jarlaxle's throat. "Well, don't count on it happening again." He turned away. "Are you coming or not? If you are, how are you going to deal with your friends? I am not bringing them along, and I think they may have become attached to you in the short time you've spent with them. People do that."

Jarlaxle smiled at him, even though he knew Artemis probably couldn't see it. "People do that."

"So, how are you going to get them un-attached?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle came up to him and touched his shoulder, grinning. "I could just have you kill them all. They've been bothering me."

"Poor Jarlaxle," Artemis mocked. "Did your own plans cause you suffering again?"

"Immense suffering," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis patted him on the cheek. "You'll feel better with their guts strewn all the way from here to Skullport."

"I hope so."

"Don't worry about it. I'll soak the snow red for you."

Jarlaxle swept off his hat and bowed, clutching his hat in both hands. "Oh, thank you."

Artemis dropped back into his usual self, smirking. "Don't mention it. I'll add it to your already substantial debt to me."

"I'll pay it off," Jarlaxle said. "Don't worry."

Artemis gave him a look. "I didn't say I was worried."

Jarlaxle shrugged. They began the long walk back to Jarlaxle's inn room. "You'd have a right to be worried. It would be reasonable. I am an unreliable ally right now."

"Hnn." Artemis sneered. "You're always unreliable. Don't think that this position makes you any less or any more of a partner to me. If I wanted someone 'reliable', I would be alone." Then he threw a glance at Jarlaxle. "However, if you betray my trust, I will finish you. That has not changed, either."

Jarlaxle's smile disappeared. "I understand."

"Good." Artemis strode unconsciously straining forward. The same restless, prowling stride Jarlaxle had seen of him whenever he was truly determined. "Then we have no more to talk about."

Jarlaxle took that as a signal to shut up. He acted accordingly. The long walk gave him time to think about what was happening. He was afraid, but he was also fatalistic. Numbness made him feel as though he were walking in his sleep. He wasn't alone…but did he want this human assassin to be in charge of his life? That was why he left. _And now I'm trapped,_ Jarlaxle thought. _Whatever will happen will happen._


	6. Chapter 6: To Come So Far

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's The Silent Blade:

"What have I done?" the assassin wailed, falling to his knees beside the drow. He turned an evil glare over Jarlaxle. "What have you done?"

"I gave you your fight and showed you the truth," Jarlaxle calmly replied. "Of yourself and your skills. But I am not finished with you. I have come to you for my purposes, not your own. Having done this for you, I demand that you perform for me."

"No! No!" the assassin cried, reaching down furiously to try to stem the spurting blood. "Not like this!"

Jarlaxle looked to Kimmuriel and nodded. The psionicist gripped Entreri with a mental hold, a telekinetic force that lifted Entreri from Drizzt and dragged him behind Kimmuriel as the psionicist headed out of the room, back down the stairs.

Entreri thrashed and cursed, aiming his outrage at Jarlaxle but eyeing Drizzt, who lay very still on the floor. Indeed he had been granted his fight, and, indeed, as he should have foreseen, it had proven nothing. He had lost – or would have, had not Kimmuriel intervened – yet he was the one who had lived.

Why, then, was he so angry? Why did he want at that moment, to put his dagger across Jarlaxle's slender throat?

Kimmuriel hauled him away.

"He fought beautifully," Rai'gy remarked to Jarlaxle, indicating Drizzt, the blood flowing much lighter now, a pool of it all about his prone and very still form. "I understand now why Dantrag Baenre is dead."

Jarlaxle nodded and smiled. "I have never seen Drizzt Do'Urden's equal," he admitted, "unless it is Artemis Entreri. Do you understand now why I chose that one."

"He is drow in everything but skin color," Rai'gy said with a laugh.

An explosion rocked the tower.

"Catti-brie and her marvelous bow," Jarlaxle explained, looking to the landing where only Guenhwyvar remained, roaring and clawing futilely at the unyielding glass. "They saw, of course, every bit of it. I should go and speak with them before they bring the place down around us."

With a thought to the crystal shard, Jarlaxle turned the wall in front of Guenhwyvar opaque once more.

Then he nodded to the still form of Drizzt Do'Urden and walked out of the room.

(387-388)

-------------------------

"He is sulking," Kimmuriel remarked, joining Jarlaxle sometime later in the main chamber of the lower floor. "But at least he has stopped vowing to cut off your head."

Jarlaxle, who had just witnessed one of the most enjoyable days of his long life, laughed yet again. "He will come to his senses and will at last be free of the shadow of Drizzt Do'Urden. For that, Artemis Entreri will thank me openly." He paused and considered his own words. "Or at least," the mercenary corrected, "he will…silently thank me."

"He tried to die," Kimmuriel stated flatly. "When he went at Drizzt's back with the dagger he led the way with a shout that alerted the outcast. He tried to die and we, and I, at your bidding, stopped that."

"Artemis Entreri will no doubt find other opportunities for stupidity if he holds that course," the mercenary leader replied with a shrug. "And we will not need him forever."

(389)

* * *

**Chapter 6**

To Come So Far

------------------------------------

Artemis was silent as they walked to the inn because he was thinking. However, he wasted no time confronting Jarlaxle about his thoughts when they entered the warm inn's common room and sat down to wait for Jarlaxle's companions to awaken.

"Why would you leave, is the question," Artemis said. "You had to know that Tandy would not let us go without a fight. Did you really think you could face such a powerful sorceress alone?"

Jarlaxle didn't answer.

Artemis, studying his face, saw that such a silence answered him better than Jarlaxle's fleeting excuses. Alarm slowly rose in his chest. Jarlaxle hadn't been thinking. He hadn't even considered what he would do if he faced Tandy. This, from the drow who had a plan for every contingency.

The assassin decided that they were in more trouble than he had anticipated.

They did not have to wait long before Jarlaxle's companions arrived, walking bunched comfortably together. They rose from the table as one.

"Jarlaxle?" Ryan stretched, cracking his back. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Something came up," Jarlaxle said. "I'm afraid I must aid this gentleman here…" He gestured to Artemis.

"Who is he?" Layla asked, staring at Artemis with a curled lip.

He glared back. "I am the person you will fail to detect right before your life's blood spills onto the carpet."

Jarlaxle laughed uneasily. "He is a little bad-tempered today, but do not worry. He doesn't mean you any harm. He only needs my help with a personal problem."

"What?" Barak asked, scratching his head.

"He means that he and I are leaving," Artemis said.

"He made a deal!" Barak said, jabbing his finger into the palm of his other hand. "He can't leave until we reach Skullport."

"He's not coming with you," Entreri growled. "He has a prior obligation."

Jarlaxle might have laughed at being surrounded by people arguing over him, but the situation was only comedic if he had the power to walk away from them, which he didn't. Instead, he just felt sick to his stomach. "Why can't these three accompany us to –"

"No," Entreri snapped. "I'll not have such weaklings and children following me wherever I go. Next you'll be suggesting that I take care of them at my own expense."

"Children?" Layla's voice grew shrill. "I am not a child!"

"Then you're a weakling." Artemis sneered. "Make your choice, but get out of my face, woman."

Jarlaxle held up his hands, trying to stall the confrontation. "He does not mean it. He is only upset because I –"

"Not one word from you." Layla rounded on him, trembling with anger.

The drow winced despite himself.

Artemis looked at him curiously and jerked his head at the woman. "Why do you care what she says to you?"

"Why do ye care whether the drow bastard comes or goes?" Barak asked, propping his hands on his belt.

Artemis turned to him, dead white and snarling. "Say that one more time, and I can guarantee that tongue of yours won't stay in your head."

Barak held his ground with stony stubbornness.

"Why don't we just let him go where he wants to?" Ryan asked desperately, gesturing at Jarlaxle.

"Oh, yes, why don't we?" Layla replied. Her nostrils flared as she stared at Jarlaxle. "Why don't we let him do whatever he wants?"

Jarlaxle held up his hands. "I did not hurt you because I wanted to."

"Oh? Then why did you?"

Artemis stared at Jarlaxle incredulously.

"I…" Jarlaxle felt everyone's gaze bearing down on him. He felt caught between compromising to maintain his image with his new companions, and remaining enough true to himself so that Artemis didn't despise or question him. The explanation he knew could dissolve some of the tension in both parties was the one he knew could ruin him. The internal pressure beleaguered him and forced him to say the words, even though he resented them. "I am not a…"

An unearthly roar erupted from outside, shaking the floor and rattling the windows. Everyone froze.

His damning confession, tantamount to an offer to stab him in the heart while he watched, fled from his lips, forgotten. _I am not a perfect person._ "What was that?" Jarlaxle looked out the windows, seeing a plume of smoke rise over the rooftops from two blocks away.

"Tandy," Entreri said, drawing his sword.

The barmaids shrieked at the grind of blade against scabbard.

"You can't do that!" the innkeeper yelled. "You're in the city! All of your weapons have to be peace-tied. It's the law!"

"Bugger the law, you imbecilic old man!" Entreri yelled over his shoulder. "Can't you see what is going on outside? The city is under attack! We shall be killed if we don't defend ourselves."

The innkeeper hid behind the counter.

Entreri curled his lip in disgust and growled. Suddenly, he turned and glared at them all. "Well? Do you want to die or live? Draw your weapons and get out there!" He ran to the door and flung it open before anyone could find their tongue. Jarlaxle and the others merely drew their weapons and followed him.

When they ran into the street, they were met with a chorus of screams. A panicked mob was reacting to the crisis by running away or barricading themselves inside buildings. The urge to fight the menace seemed to be in the minority.

This didn't stop Artemis. He headed towards the attack, pushing stampeding people as hard as they pushed him, going against the flow of traffic.

"He must be bored," Jarlaxle said to his three bewildered human companions. He followed the assassin's example of moving towards the disturbance, although much less enthusiastically.

This earned him a roar: "Jarlaxle, get your black elven ass over here!"

The mercenary shot Artemis Entreri a dirty look and put more speed into his steps. Instead of shoving people, he walked with his head high, plume bouncing in the wind, declaring primly, "Move, people, move. We are accomplished mercenaries. Please make way, and we will put everything to rights." The terrified crowd scattered for him, currently cowed into placing their faith in anyone willing to fight. Jarlaxle motioned to Layla, Ryan, and Barak. "Come with me. I think this noble city deserves your assistance." Dumbfounded, they shut their mouths and nodded.

"Jarlaxle!" Artemis roared again.

"Coming, dear partner," Jarlaxle said, trotting through the now-clear streets.

But all of them halted abruptly when they saw what was causing the disturbance. A red dragon loomed above them, taking down buildings with its teeth and breathing spurts of flame at whatever caught its eye.

"It's a baby," Jarlaxle offered weakly, trying to smile in the face of the urge to faint. In the eyes of that dragon, he was a speck without any magical shells to protect him. The dragon, if it caught him, could simply crush him. Then there would be no more Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe and no one would care that he had disappeared without a trace, without any last words to his mercenaries. Menzoberranzan was built that way. People disappeared every day.

"It's a dragon!" Ryan screamed. "Good god Ao, it's a dragon!"

"It's a dragon," Artemis seconded with deadpan hatred. A murderous gleam lit his gray eyes, and his hand tightened on the jeweled hilt of his new sword.

Jarlaxle wanted to tell him they didn't stand a chance. His words were frozen in his throat.

The dragon looked in their direction.

"Shit!" Layla scrambled behind a cart, recognized what she was clinging to, screamed, and hid behind the stonework of an already smoldering house.

"Those who have dared disturb my slumber shall die!" the dragon roared in a voice that made the hair on Artemis' arms stand up on end.

"You were napping?" Jarlaxle asked, beaming. He laughed. "Sorry. I'm surely not the one who would wake so eminent a creature as you, Master …?"

The dragon made a swipe at him with its front claws. Jarlaxle bounded away like a cricket, heightening his jump backwards with levitation. He landed nimbly on a weather vane that topped a nearby roof.

The dragon flapped its wings, sending a gust of snow and chilly air that ripped the weather vane off the roof. Jarlaxle landed on his back in the roof's snow and jumped back onto his feet.

The dragon roared, "Humans! You shall suffer for disturbing me!"

"Oh, boy." Ryan fainted dead away in the middle of the street.

Artemis kicked him in the ribs. "Useless scum!"

Ryan didn't stir.

"Where did you find these cowards?" Entreri demanded in disbelief.

Jarlaxle shrugged sheepishly. "Never mind them. Let them tend to their own safety."

"Enough talking!" the dragon roared. "Die!" It unleashed a roiling cloud of smoke and fire at the rooftop where Jarlaxle stood.

Jarlaxle leapt, flying backwards just ahead of the flame. It melted the ice and snow on the roof and set the house ablaze.

The dragon moved, its muscles bunched, cat-like – an enormous predator preparing to strike.

"Jarlaxle!" Artemis screamed.

The dragon slammed into the drow with its tail before Jarlaxle had a chance to land.

Jarlaxle shot towards the ground like a meteor and disappeared from sight.

The dragon instantly turned on Entreri.

Artemis rolled out of the way, but not quick enough. The heat blast from the flame was enough to burn him, turning the side of his face hot and throbbing and setting his clothes on fire. He smelled scorched hair and wool. He kept rolling until he felt the flames on his body extinguish and lay in the mud, drenched by the cloud of vapor that moments ago had been snow. He prayed that the trick would make the dragon think he had been killed and hoped the dragon couldn't hear his heart beating, rabbit-quick.

However, he still tensed, getting ready to jump to his feet and run.

At that moment, a powerful female voice carried across the demolished streets. "Halt, and stop this destruction at once! I give you only one warning. You are violating the sanctity and peace of Silverymoon and will be punished!"

"Who are you to stop me?" the dragon growled. Artemis could feel the dragon's voice vibrate his bones.

"I am Alustriel, this city's keeper."

Artemis Entreri fervently hoped that Alustriel was as powerful as the stories said. If the legends were true, he and Jarlaxle might just limp away from this encounter alive. He lay in the mud, eyes closed, hoping that this battle would skip over him completely. Jarlaxle had the sense to do the same, if he were still alive.

If he had been watching, Artemis would have seen an incredible battle. He heard Alustriel chanting, felt and smelled the odd tang of magic racing through the air. He heard the yells of Silverymoon soldiers, archers, and wizards as they swarmed into the street. The ground shook with the rampages of the dragon. Earsplitting roars, ferocious and cavernous, belched from lungs the size of cottages.

After enduring this for what seemed like hours, the victorious cries from the soldiers told him that the dragon had been eliminated.

Without thinking, he scrambled to his feet, mud and icicles frozen to his body, and ran to the place he had seen Jarlaxle fall. Behind him, looming in the corner of his vision, was the steaming carcass of the red dragon, but he did not heed it.

Artemis dug through the snow with his bare hands, scraping his fingers on sheets of crumbling ice. He found an ebon-skinned hand and clasped it, one hand on Jarlaxle's wrist, and pulled. Jarlaxle's body shifted a foot forward, knocking snow loose from his head and chest. Artemis lifted, muscles in his arms flexing, and Jarlaxle came free from the snow bank. The drow's head lolled. For one moment, Artemis thought his neck was broken, and his chest almost burst. Jarlaxle looked up at him, and he realized he'd been holding his breath so tightly he couldn't breathe. "Hold on. The dragon's been defeated. We can walk away from this and get you the help you need."

Jarlaxle chuckled weakly. "I told you I didn't like red dragons."

"I know."

Artemis straightened, pulling Jarlaxle's arm across his shoulders and putting his other arm around the drow's waist to steady him.

He felt the prick of a sword against his back. The man's voice came from directly behind his right ear. "Halt."

"Halt?" Jarlaxle complained. "We're always being told to halt."

"We haven't done anything worthy of your attention," Artemis said evenly. "We were trying to protect the city, but the dragon's wrath proved too much for us to handle." The burnt side of his face was stiff and hurt outrageously whenever he spoke.

"Artemis Entreri," an amazed voice breathed.

Despite better judgement, Artemis turned, almost causing the soldier to slice out his Adam's apple. Drizzt Do'Urden. Artemis' eyes narrowed to slits. Drizzt's quickly did as well.

"H-Hello," Jarlaxle said. The way he was breathing made Artemis think his ribs hurt. The assassin only hoped they weren't broken. The drow managed to smile. "I thought we would stop by and see how you were doing and how your pursuit of the lovely Catti-brie was faring. By any chance do you have children yet? I would love to see them. No doubt they have her hair and your lovely eyes."

Artemis imagined that and immediately tried to dismiss the picture.

"Jarlaxle!" Drizzt exclaimed through clenched teeth.

"Ye-es, that is my name. Drizzt, call off your lackeys and let us sit down for tea," Jarlaxle said.

Alustriel stepped forward, looking outraged. "They are not his lackeys."

Jarlaxle tried to bow, even with Artemis being the only thing holding him up. "My apologies. I did not mean to insult your eminence."

"These two are wanted criminals known far and wide," Drizzt said. "One of them is my old enemy, the assassin Artemis Entreri. The other is a new partner he picked up during a stint in the Underdark, in the city of drow."

"Stint," Jarlaxle said to Artemis. "As if he thinks you were taking a vacation or something."

"I did not 'pick him up'," Artemis corrected. "He imprisoned me."

"Let us not quibble over semantics," Jarlaxle said.

"Then, when I finally managed to escape, he came after me and saved me from certain death… on the condition that I would be his servant," Artemis said. Jarlaxle gave him a worried glance, as though he thought the assassin were being entirely serious. Artemis sent him the slightest smirk to reassure him it was all in good fun.

"He makes a good servant," Jarlaxle said. "I make him wash my feet."

Artemis wrinkled his nose.

"The details are irrelevant," Drizzt interjected, speaking loudly.

"I beg to differ," Jarlaxle said. "It's all in the details."

Alustriel frowned, seeming the slightest bit confused. "Silence, please." She glanced at Drizzt. "You say you know these men, and that the Calishite is none other than Artemis Entreri?"

Drizzt bowed to her. "Lady, I can assure you that these are two dangerous men, much better kept in one of your cells to await trial than left to themselves to pursue whatever destruction meets their fancy. They have countless crimes to atone for."

"Let me add a new one before you make the tally," Artemis growled. "Give me a chance, and I'll break your neck."

Alustriel frowned disapprovingly. Suddenly, all the soldiers around them pointed their swords in their direction.

"Oh, dear," Jarlaxle said.

"I guess I won't give you the chance, then," Drizzt hissed.

"What makes you qualified to decide who should be locked up and who should be set free?" Artemis demanded. "What makes Drizzt Do'Urden the ultimate judge of a man's actions?"

"I'm not," Drizzt said. "That's why there will be a trial."

In the wake of all the destruction, Artemis and Jarlaxle were marched into the Silverymoon dungeons.

-------------

Inside the dungeon, the guards pulled them apart, one guard taking Artemis' arm, another taking Jarlaxle's.

"What are you doing?" Artemis demanded.

"Collaborators are separated."

The guard yanked Artemis roughly down the left passageway. "Now, come with me, ye scoundrel."

"But he's injured!" Jarlaxle protested.

Artemis looked at him in surprise. _You're one to talk,_ he thought of saying_. You can't even walk by yourself._

"He'll get treated," the guard said, without a change of expression.

To Artemis' mortification, Jarlaxle started to struggle with the guard holding him back. "Wait!" he ordered. "By who? When? You can't leave him like that!"

"Jarlaxle, stop," Artemis snapped. His face was starting to get hot from the inside, and he didn't know why.

Jarlaxle stopped. Their eyes met, and they both saw something there that surprised them. What exactly was communicated neither one knew; but they felt it in their bones.

Jarlaxle allowed himself to be led in the opposite direction, and Artemis' guard resumed dragging him down the hallway.

"Enough of the lovebird act," Jarlaxle's guard muttered loudly enough for Artemis to hear. "You'll see each other at trial."

* * *

Artemis stared at his hands. He sat on the stone bench jutting from the wall. _I can't believe he's gone. _

And then, _I've failed him._

Artemis shook his head. He didn't know what he was thinking. _You are hungry and tired,_ he told himself. _You aren't making sense. Stop thinking until you have some food and rest. _

But he couldn't.

Jarlaxle was vulnerable, really vulnerable. He hadn't wanted to see it before, but he couldn't help it when remembering the sight of Jarlaxle being pummeled by the dragon. It was dangerous for Jarlaxle out there; he was always getting himself into trouble, and he couldn't afford it now that he didn't have any magical protection. Stripped of his magic, Artemis could see more clearly the dark elf rogue: Jarlaxle's strengths were his being quick, nimble, and persuading everyone with his charisma. That is why he had such an array of magical items festooned around his person. Wands to fight when he couldn't compete. Tricks to aid his stealth or his swiftness or guarantee an escape if cornered. And even with that layer of protection, Jarlaxle must not have trusted his safety completely, for he rarely fought until pushed to it, and never if his companions could handle the conflict by themselves.

It was inconceivable, but it was true: Jarlaxle needed someone like Artemis to be the muscle behind his threats, to be the dagger at his enemy's throat.

Now he understood the nervousness in Jarlaxle's eyes that morning during their confrontation. Now he understood the manipulation, the constant insistence on control. Jarlaxle knew that without his magical weapons, without his guaranteed way out, if Artemis wanted to kill him, he would be dead. And no one would bother to resurrect him.

Artemis held his head in his hands, lost in his disbelief. He had been blinded by the aura of impenetrability that Jarlaxle projected. He had bought it. He had fallen for an illusion. Jarlaxle was just as vulnerable as he was, and he always had been.

He remembered Jarlaxle's smile, the mercenary's insistence that they were equal, and his rejection of that idea.

It came to Entreri in a flood: _He was telling the truth. In spite of needing to manipulate me, he told the truth to my face. He was telling the truth all along. _

Artemis thought about that for the rest of the day, fixated on it, unaware of time passing. _He was telling the truth._

His food went uneaten, and he did not sleep.

* * *

The next day – or it could have been the next week – the assassin was forced to look up at the sound of something ringing against the bars of the cell. It was the dark elf ranger, sounding the bars with a hunting knife to get his attention.

"Why are you here?" Artemis asked, raising an eyebrow.

Drizzt sheathed the dagger and paced in front of the cell like an uneasy animal. "To make sure you still are. I have already checked on Jarlaxle."

Artemis laughed. "What do you expect?"

Drizzt frowned. "I expected you to escape. They told me how much surveillance they have posted on your cells, and I did not think it would be enough. I feared that when I came to see your accommodations, I would be looking at an empty cell."

Artemis grinned. "How would we manage that?"

Drizzt's frown deepened. "Jarlaxle seems to be able to escape from a sealed room with ease. He is so slippery I would almost expect him to turn into a shadow and glide under the door."

Artemis' grin drained of mirth. "Jarlaxle doesn't have a plan. He doesn't even have a way out. If it's his presence here that you want, you will get it."

"My impression of him was that he always had a plan," Drizzt said dryly.

Artemis' grin faded away entirely. "He hasn't been himself lately."

Drizzt raised an eyebrow. "What about you? Have you been yourself lately?"

Artemis snorted. "What do you expect of me? That I have a lock pick in my mouth, secreted away in a hollowed out cheek pouch?"

Drizzt narrowed his eyes. "That sounds about right."

The assassin rolled his eyes. "Left it at home. Sorry to disappoint."

"Then what are you going to do?" Drizzt asked suspiciously.

Artemis stared at him dead on. "About the trial? Do you really think I will give a damn what a hundred people say? What two hundred say? Or three hundred? A thousand? I know who I am."

Shaken, Drizzt left.

That night was a special night. Artemis Entreri dreamt.

Incredibly, he was home – the home that haunted the furthest recesses of his childhood memories, a two story adobe house with rich, heavy tapestries in front of open windows to let in or restrict the wind. A place that smelled of cinnamon and rich, dark molasses, lit by sunroofs during the day and oil lamps by night.

He was drawn like a rip tide into his mother's room.

"Why does Papa have two wives?"

She drew him into her lap and sat him upon her shapely knee. He buried his face in her robes. He liked the perfume. It was flowers. Like the purple ones that grew in the garden.

She must have thought answering him important, for she took his chin and gently tipped his head up, to meet his inquisitive eyes. Smiling, she stroked his baby-soft hair. "Many men have more than two wives. Wives are a way for them to follow love. One wife shows a man loves a little. Several wives show a man who loves a lot."

He frowned, but it was more like a pout. "But if he has lots of wives, who is his favorite? Does he love them all? Or does he just like having them?"

She laughed. "So serious! You are only four years old, Artemis!" She ruffled his hair. "You will have a chance to learn these things, when the time is right."

"Five," he said, sticking out his lower lip and crossing his arms.

She lifted him off her lap, hooking her hands under his armpits, and patted his rump, scooting him forward. "Go, you scoundrel!" She laughed again, a heartfelt, amused sound. "It is time for bed, and boys who do not go to bed have no supper the next eve."

He turned, first only to look over his shoulder, but then all the way around when he couldn't see her well enough that way. His face was frank, unintentionally serious with his sober gray eyes. "You would feed me. You would bring me bread crusts from the kitchen. Like you did last time." He was done speaking and put his thumb in his mouth.

She came from her chair, silk whispering around her ankles, and bent down, gently plucking his fist away. "Still sucking? You will have crooked teeth at this rate. I told you what the priest said."

He pulled his tiny hand away from hers and stuck his thumb back in his mouth. "Mmn."

She sighed and picked him up. "Just this once. I cannot carry you to bed forever, you know." Still, she held him close enough for him to hear her heart beating, as if she would be sad when she could no longer fit her arms around him so easily.

"Mama-hal…" He took his thumb out of his mouth, repentant and obedient. "I'm tired." His eyes fluttered shut.

She carried him to his bed and tucked the covers over him. He fell asleep, nestled in eiderdowns and silk.

Artemis awakened in the cell, head throbbing and bile in his throat. His entire body hurt, on the inside, beyond muscle and bone, and in a moment of clarity he knew that he was heartsick. He dreadfully missed his mother, missed the feeling that someone else cared for him. He was surprised, having thought he buried and forgot the pain a long time ago. It was raw, chafed, new. Bitter resentment welled up in him, as tears might have, if he had been weaker. He had never dreamt of his mother before, never in the long years since her disappearance. He had put it behind him. Or so he had thought.

Now, his head still whirling from sleep, she was all he could think about. Every touch, glance, and smell was reawakened, as if it had been preserved in a heavy tome, pressed and dried.

Just when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, the pain faded to the background with one last throb in his chest, as if the memory of her was reassuring him that it could crush his heart if it wanted to.

He realized – or remembered – two things: he had loved before because he had loved his mother, and the one thing he was suddenly afraid of losing forever was Jarlaxle.

Artemis growled, covering his eyes with his fists, restraining the urge to beat his fists against his forehead. "You are weak, stupid, weak."

But even saying it out loud couldn't banish the feeling. He wanted Jarlaxle, more than he had ever wanted anyone's presence before. He wanted the condescending smile and the vanity and the uncomfortable feeling of being included. Included in Jarlaxle's plans and being physically included, thrust into the spotlight with the insane drow with the simple pull of the mercenary's arm around his shoulders, the infectious grin suddenly blaring his way like the sun's glare.

He had gotten used to it.

No…He had gotten to like it.

_Like it._ He swallowed against a suddenly tight knot in his throat.

His eyes wandered along the stones of the wall, but they were unseeing, tracing instead the line of events that had led him here.

In the months surrounding the Crystal Shard and Jarlaxle's downfall, Artemis had become assured that Jarlaxle would not turn on him without reason. He had trusted that about Jarlaxle's presence: that unless he gave Jarlaxle a reason, the drow mercenary would not strike at him. That was more assurance than he had previously had about any of his associates, partner or otherwise, but that did not mean he felt any sort of kinship or loyalty. Safety was not precisely the word for it, either. He had simply known that should Jarlaxle come or go, he would part with the mercenary on pleasant terms.

When they attacked Tandy's fortress and failed, Jarlaxle's fallen body had forced him to realize that Jarlaxle's life or death mattered to him. Another's survival impacted him in some way. He had felt compelled to call the sorceress off, to offer her a deal. This was new to him, and somehow unpleasant.

Then, even when he had found his escape, he had paused, deciding to wait for Jarlaxle instead of putting his plan into action as soon as possible. Imprisonment was distasteful to him, and he knew full well that Jarlaxle would not be up to his full fighting capacity. And yet he had waited until he saw Jarlaxle pull through, starting to regain consciousness and lucidity. Yes, when they struggled through the snow – Artemis largely pulling Jarlaxle's weight – he had admitted to himself that he had feelings of like toward Jarlaxle, that Jarlaxle made his life seem more worth living somehow. But though he freely admitted these new feelings, he had ultimately dismissed them as his being accustomed to Jarlaxle's company, of coming to 'like' the mercenary because there were no other options for company.

Jarlaxle's desertion in the middle of the night had changed that. His anger, his following pursuit, his determination to face Jarlaxle again and demand an explanation – these things had all stemmed from a violation of another new feeling. Artemis had placed value upon their partnership, placed value upon their friendship. He, the lone assassin, had come to like another person for who he was. It was an impossible feat. No one measured up to his standards, no one garnered so much respect that he would claim to 'like' them. But first Dwahvel. Now this mercenary. He had been forced to consider a question: Was he truly changing?

Those ruminations brought him here, to this prison, to his pangs of anxiety in regards to Jarlaxle's treatment at the hands of these 'goodly' people. He felt the same way he had as a small child when his mother began defending him from his father. The same age-old pangs in his chest, the echo of a tiny voice he scarcely believed had ever come from within him, saying, _No, please don't leave me. I'm scared. Be careful._

He had finally let someone inside the circle he had maintained for himself and his mother. Jarlaxle. He had given Jarlaxle the same status he had bestowed upon himself and his mother: love.

The taste in Artemis Entreri's mouth was despair.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Everyone ought to thank Ariel D, because I was hopelessly stuck on this chapter until she and I talked over MSN Messenger. She helped me figure out what to do, and so it's because of her I got my act together. Thank you, Ariel.


	7. Chapter 7: Naught But A Pawn

**Chapter 7**

Naught But A Pawn

Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's Starless Night:

A familiar clicking sounded from the tunnel directly across the small chamber and, a moment later, in swept Jarlaxle, the extraordinary drow mercenary, his wide-brimmed hat festooned with a giant _diatryma_ feather, his vest cut high to reveal rolling lines of muscles across his abdomen. He strode before the gnome, glanced about a couple of times to take in the whole scene, then dipped into a low bow, brushing his hat across the floor with an outstretched hand.

"My greetings!" Jarlaxle said heartily as he came back upright, crooking his arm above him so that the hat tucked against his elbow. A snap of he arm sent the hat into a short spin, to land perfectly atop the swaggering mercenary's shaved head.

"High soar your spirits this day," Firble remarked.

"And why not?" the drow asked. "It's another glorious day in the Underdark! A day to be enjoyed."

Firble did not seem convinced, but he was amazed, as always, by the conniving drow's command of the Svirfneblin language. Jarlaxle spoke the tongue as easily and fluidly as any of Blingdenstone's deep gnome inhabitants, though the mercenary used the sentence structure more common to the drow language and not the inverted form favored by many of the gnomes.

"Many svirfneblin mining parties have been assaulted," Firble said, his tone verging on that of an accusation. "Svirfneblin parties working _west _of Blingdenstone."

Jarlaxle smiled coyly and held his hands out wide. "Ched Nasad?" he asked innocently, implicating the next nearest drow city.

"Menzoberranzan!" Firble asserted. Ched Nasad was many weeks away. "One dark elf wore the emblem of a Menzoberranzan house."

"Rogue parties," Jarlaxle reasoned. "Young fighters out for pleasure."

Firble's thin lips almost disappeared with his ensuing scowl. Both he and Jarlaxle knew better than to think that the raiding drow were simple young rowdies. The attacks had been coordinated and executed perfectly, and many svirfneblin slain.

"What am I to say?" Jarlaxle asked innocently. "I am but a pawn to the events around me."

(152-153)

* * *

Jarlaxle sat alone in the darkened cell, nauseated with pain, trying to shut out the other figures in other cells revealed to him by infravision.

He considered the vivid, frightening memories of his partnership with Crenshinibon. Once, he had believed that he had been at fault for ordering the crystal shard not to kill a fleeing spy. That his lack of respect caused the partnership to dissolve. But on reflection, he felt that the shard had been toying with him all along. Crenshinibon had let him believe there was a partnership, that there were lines neither of them would cross. Lines of civility. In reality, he had been in terrible danger from the beginning. He had allowed an ignorant delusion of equality to convince him that he, simply because of cleverness and charisma, could be a match for an artifact with a limitless source of power.

Unpleasant as the conclusion was, Jarlaxle drew inescapable parallels between his foolishness then and the principle upon which he based his very survival in Menzoberranzan. Like he had believed that cleverness and charisma protected him against Crenshinibon, he based his entire concept of self-worth on the belief that his cleverness and charisma would protect him against the matriarchy.

Crenshinibon had simply outmaneuvered his mind. When Jarlaxle posed an actual challenge to its dominance, all it had to do was distract him with pain and fear. Just as he, in ignorance, had wielded Crenshinibon's ability to use pain and fear against Artemis during a sparring match. He had not learned. Artemis had defeated those morale weakening emotions but he had still lost. Crenshinibon would not have cared if its feint had snapped Jarlaxle's mind in two, but it expected the drow mercenary to defeat it. After that mere distraction, it knew Jarlaxle would be too weak to search for subterfuge. Having survived the attack, it knew Jarlaxle would listen to its offer of diplomacy, that he would be eager to reestablish codes of conduct.

The crystal shard, with its nonliving perspective on mortal life and centuries of experience, knew very well that Jarlaxle protected himself with denial. Crenshinibon did not tire; it could channel energy from the sun forever. It knew that his sanity depended on being able to deny that the crystal shard could make him relive his childhood over and over again, until he broke under the strain.

Jarlaxle was alone, helpless, wretchedly cold in the prison clothes the guards had substituted for his ripped and muddied garments, his bald head exposed. His lips were cracked and bleeding, his tailbone numb from sitting on the stone floor. And not more than a few hours ago, he had seen death in the hulking behemoth frame of the red dragon…and not done anything about it.

_Would I be having this breakdown anyway?_

From where he sat now, it seemed inevitable. He had survived his ordeal with Crenshinibon, but he had not recovered. The artifact's intimate knowledge of him, its gaze into the center of his heart, had wounded him. Its manipulation of his innermost self, the self he had tried to protect against his lieutenants, his double-edged world of lies and conspiracies, the grabbing hands of Matron Mothers…Crenshinibon wore a hole through him like acid.

Of course he had misjudged Tandy.

Of course he had sprung her trap.

Of course he had frozen in the face of that dragon.

It was all inevitable.

Jarlaxle knew he had solved the mystery of the nightmares that plagued him ever since he woke up from his near death sleep in Tandy's clutches. He was having these nightmares now because of Crenshinibon. Underneath his denial, these doors were waiting to be opened, waiting for him to see.

Where sat Artemis in all of this? He was more than just a witness to Jarlaxle's disintegration. What was he? Jarlaxle tried so hard to make him escape, to push him away, but he kept coming back.

He had seen something in Artemis' eyes.

It was different than when Jarlaxle, in a searing moment, his mind being burned away by Crenshinibon's power, glimpsed into the eyeless, immortal face of emptiness and power lust that stared into him.

Jarlaxle had stared into Artemis' face and found…concern, insecurity, passion, anger and life, so very familiar things – and understanding.

Artemis hadn't wanted to burn him alive. Artemis had wanted to protect him.

Jarlaxle closed his eyes, rested his head against the stone wall of his cell. He was so tired he didn't think he could stand another moment of consciousness. But reverie wouldn't come. He was so cold it burned now. He wished with the traitorously weak part of him Crenshinibon cruelly exposed that he wouldn't live through the night. Delirium would steal over him, lending him strange dreams while he slowly froze to death, finally proven to be the foolish male his family always said he was.

Tears ran down his cheeks, and sleep drew him into its void.

As what usually happened to exhausted dreamers, Jarlaxle was almost instantly enfolded into a world of vivid and strange images. A sound like a ravenous whirlpool roared in his ears. The foreign experience of being exposed to the true chaos in his sleeping mind entertained and frightened him until morning.

***

Jarlaxle jerked awake in the hands of two guards. They were holding him upright by the wrists.

"Damnit, he's awake!" the bearded one said.

"Hold still," the other snapped at him.

The world tilted at crazy angles, almost as if he were tumbling down a hill. He didn't remember for a moment where he was or why he was cold, and the bright lanterns on hooks around the cell blinded him.

One of the guards produced manacles from his belt and fitted Jarlaxle's wrists into them with a heavy snap of their jaws closing.

"W-w-what are you doing?" Jarlaxle asked. He was instantly ashamed of the fear in his voice and his chattering teeth.

"Sit down." The bearded guard shoved him onto the stone bench on the wall he'd been unable to reach yesterday before his ankle gave out.

Jarlaxle fell onto it hard, unable to break his fall. He slumped over, resting his manacled hands in his lap, trying to wish away the pain of his tailbone. He felt naked and vulnerable, and the feelings shook him to pieces. He realized he was afraid of being raped. He'd gone to sleep, and he'd let them deprive him of his only chance of self defense.

The bearded guard stared at him. "It's safe now. He's locked up."

A third person came into the cell, out from behind the guards. It was a young man in robes.

Jarlaxle cringed. A priest. A priest of some unknown human deity. They were going to torture him now.

He could have withstood torture before. He had, countless times. It was just a matter of will.

But he didn't care if he lived or died right now. He didn't know if he was going to live, if he was going to be imprisoned here forever, if Artemis would be put to death… He didn't have the willpower to be tortured right now.

So many drow had died imprisoned, humiliated, tortured to death by Matron's priestesses…he knew the beast that was Menzoberranzan was fed with the bodies of countless soldiers, sent into unwinnable battles, thrown as mere distractions at academy trained nobles they were no match for. He had simply watched and sidestepped the blood.

But now it was his turn, and someone else far above him would be watching, disdainful of his pain.

Jarlaxle started crying before the priest said a word.

"Would you like to confess?" the priest asked, his mannerisms deceptively gentle.

Jarlaxle's breath caught and he felt a tight pain in his chest as his heart jumped. _This is what Zaknafein did. This is how he died. He was asked to confess, and he was killed, his heart got carved out and they fed it to a fire and they threw him away and they used him. This is what happened. This is what's happening to me._

He couldn't believe it. He'd thought his lieutenants would kill him, or his enemies would catch up to him on the battlefield, he never thought he'd be killed…weak, alone, unprepared in this cell.

He broke out sobbing. "I can't be here, I can't, it wasn't supposed to be me. It wasn't supposed to be me – I'm different, I'm not like them…"

"Everyone is here for a reason," the priest said.

"Leave me alone."

"I cannot," the priest said. "It would be unconscionable. Your wounds must be mended."

"No!" Jarlaxle shrank back, curling up on the bench in a shaking huddle.

The priest approached.

"No! Don't touch me!" Jarlaxle felt the priest's hands on him. "No, don't touch me. Don't do it…"

"Your ribs are cracked on your left side," the priest said.

Jarlaxle felt a warm tingling, and suddenly he could breathe without pain. "Please stop. You're only going to kill me later."

He felt the priest touching his hip, and another warm, tingling sensation spread through him. The pain in his back and tailbone stopped.

Jarlaxle sat up, trying to push the priest away even though his wrists were bound.

"Hey!" A guard slapped him, hard. "You try that again and you _will _die!"

Jarlaxle whimpered. "It can't make a difference."

"No one is dying, here," the priest said, giving the guard a stern look. He turned to Jarlaxle. "I am not an executioner. I am here to heal you. That is my job. That is all." He knelt and healed Jarlaxle's ankle.

Then he stood and addressed the guards again. "He is too cold. Get me a blanket for him."

The guards reluctantly left.

"Why do you care if I am cold or hot, or well or infirm?" Jarlaxle asked. "It doesn't matter."

"I have to care," the priest said. "I would be a disgrace to my god if I did not."

"Your god cares whether I am suffering or not?" Jarlaxle demanded incredulously.

"Of course He does," the priest said. "He cares about all suffering."

Jarlaxle blinked. He was feeling a whole lot better, and the cloudiness of his despair was quickly being burned off by anger. "What kind of a god is that? Why would he bother? What can he gain? My adoration? My indebtedness? My soul?" He stood up. "What right do you or some god I've never met have to tell me whether or not to suffer? Tell me that."

The priest looked quite surprised, but did not back up. Rather, he held his position and merely said, "No, none of those things. It is my duty to lessen the suffering of anyone I come by, not anyone else's duty to come to my god and thank him. Service to Him is a choice."

Jarlaxle still clenched his jaw, skeptical. It would have been better to die as he had thought he would. Now he lived for perhaps a day or two longer in the shame of misreading someone's intentions, the shame of being a fool. "If service to him is a choice, and your service is to go out and help people all day or the rest of your life, why in the nine blazing hells would you serve such a god?"

The priest sighed. "I have met many people who feel that way, and I only have one answer for you. The same answer I gave the rest of the people who think like you: I do it because it's what I want to do. Pity me if you want, disdain me if you wish, but I feel the most fulfilling thing in the world is to protect people instead of harming them or letting them suffer because of others." He gave Jarlaxle a defiant stare. "And I will never apologize for healing someone. If you wanted to suffer, that is your business. Take it up with Shar."

The priest left with his head held high. A moment later the guards came back with a faded yellow blanket.

"Who in the world was that?" Jarlaxle asked them.

The guards threw the blanket at him. He caught it deftly in one hand. "The priest of Ilmater." They left, and locked the door.

Jarlaxle looked down at the blanket in his hand, then wrapped himself in it. He sat down on the hard bench with a sigh. "A priest of Ilmater…Who in the nine hells is Ilmater? Why haven't I heard that name before? What is his purpose?"

He began to feel a lot warmer after about fifteen minutes, but felt no wiser about what had just happened.

As his irritation faded, it was replaced with hope. The world opened up to him and offered him its vast possibilities. Perhaps, for instance, a lot of people believed in this Ilmater – then they wouldn't kill him, because it was against their god's wishes or something. Or perhaps Alustriel would listen to his story before automatically condemning him. This justice system seemed slow on the move. Perhaps he had enough time to escape from here, rescue Artemis if he hadn't already busted free, and run for it. Alustriel dealt with the dragon easily enough. Perhaps she and Tandy Jedra were having a mage fight right now.

Perhaps there was still some time to make things right – to kill Tandy, regain power, contact Kimmuriel, and fix his friendship with Artemis.

No matter how badly he was still hurting on the inside, it didn't matter – the priest had just proved that. Being an emotional mess didn't mean his life was over. And if his life was over, he could have chances to fix it. To regrow some armor around his heart, and stop thinking about the past so much.

He had almost given up.

Suddenly he was angry with himself. He had given up. If he had been in the situation he thought, he would have died. What was going to become of Artemis if he died? Artemis had no friends, no family, no home, no life to go to even if someone decided this was all a mistake and let the assassin go. No one else cared! No one cared whether his potential was wasted or not, if he was ever happy, if he smiled, scowled, or cried…or died.

Jarlaxle punched the wall and nursed his scraped knuckles immediately after.

What was he thinking? What was his problem? To the nine hells with his histrionic emotional disturbances! He didn't give a damn! People were going to waste a life. They were going to throw away a perfectly good person! There was nothing wrong with Artemis he couldn't fix with a few years' time. Artemis was so close to being the person he was supposed to be.

The thing that drove Jarlaxle to the brink of insanity was the waste of life. That was where Crenshinibon had kicked him in the groin.

That's right…It wasn't his own problems that made him so desperate for some peace, even if that meant death. It was the idea that he'd blundered, that he'd been stupid, that he hadn't been able to salvage as many lives from Menzoberranzan's hunger as he should have been. That he was going to fail again.

Well, he wouldn't fail again.  
_I can't fail again._ Jarlaxle stood up and paced throughout the cell, blanket clutched tightly around his shoulders. _I will go insane if I don't make it._

***

He didn't know how many hours later it was when he heard an interruption from the prison hallway.

"Is he here?" a young, melodic voice asked, echoing slightly in the corridor.

"He is here, Good Ranger Do'Urden," the rough voice of a guard said.

Jarlaxle's head snapped up.

The youthful, neurotically handsome drow sprung from Zaknafein's loins was indeed standing before him, looking through the bars of the cell door.

"I see you live still, clever mercenary," Drizzt said. "What have you been up to since killing me and staging my death in front of my greatest rival and all of my friends?"

"What are you doing here?" Jarlaxle asked incredulously. "Is it not enough for you to capture me? Must you see me denuded, without my glorious clothing and my magical items? You come here to gawk at me like a lion in a cage?"

"I came to make sure you were still here under lock and key," Drizzt retorted. "No one knows better than I how skilled you are at making your escape."

"Says the boy who captured me," Jarlaxle said, scowling at him. "You see that I am here. Now fly." He made a shooing motion.

"You are in no position to tell anyone when to come or go," Drizzt said. "I may come or leave as I wish to."

Jarlaxle gave him a rude drow gesture that basically suggested he should feed his head to a drider.

Drizzt's face heated under Jarlaxle's infravision. "You do it and like it!" he snapped in Drow.

"Child's retort," Jarlaxle said, switching over as he had. "What do you think your father would think of you, locking up a family friend and siding with the Matron of Silverymoon?"

"This isn't anything like Menzoberranzan!" Drizzt exclaimed. "You're too old to realize that! It will never be!"

"Everywhere is Menzoberranzan," Jarlaxle snapped back. "You are too young to realize that it doesn't matter where you are. You are going to be treated just the same." He didn't know why he said that, since he had told Entreri just the opposite, but he was angry, and here was this easy target. "Except the people here are softer. You would never survive in Menzoberranzan, you weak-hearted, Matron-fearing _konbluth_-aspirerer! Look at yourself. You have dark skin, white hair, pointed ears. You are a drow! A male drow."

"That doesn't make me like you," Drizzt said.

"That makes you more like me than you are like them," Jarlaxle said. "If male drow never stuck together, we would all be dead. You are betraying your entire culture. I'm trying to make something of it. I'm trying to unite people. What are you trying to do? You kill every one of us you come across!"

"Shut up," Drizzt demanded, shaking.

"Your father isn't proud of you. He's ashamed of you!"

"Shut up!"

"If he were here right now, he'd let me go, and he would help me get Artemis out of his cell!"

"If he did that, he would be wrong!" Drizzt shouted. He turned cold all over. "You can't look at me and see my father. I'm not him! And you aren't my friend!"

He ran away, green cloak flying behind him.

Jarlaxle felt less angry, but he felt sick to his stomach. It was a sinking feeling. What had he done by unleashing his anger on Drizzt like that? He'd made a deal with himself to try and help the child of Zaknafein's blood. Now he had driven him away.

His mind was soon overcome by his other problems.

He resumed pacing. What was going to happen to Artemis?

***


	8. Chapter 8: The Last Challenge

Chapter 8

**The Last Challenge**

Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's The Silent Blade:

Back and forth he paced, stretching his muscles, arms, and neck. He talked quietly to himself, reminding himself of all that he had to do, warning himself to never, not for a single instant, underestimate his enemy. And then he stopped suddenly, and considered his own movements, his own thoughts.

He was indeed nervous, anxious, and, for the first time since he had left Menzoberranzan, excited. A slight sound turned him around.

Drizzt Do'Urden stood on the landing.

Without a word the drow ranger entered, then flinched not at all as the door closed behind him.

"I have waited for this for many years," Entreri said.

"Then you are a bigger fool than I supposed," Drizzt replied.

Entreri exploded into action, rushing up the back side of the center stairs, brandishing dagger and sword as he came over the lip, as if he expected Drizzt to meet him there, battling for the high ground.

The ranger hadn't moved, hadn't even drawn his weapons.

"And a bigger fool still if you believe that I will fight you this day," Drizzt said.

Entreri's eyes widened. After a long pause he came down the front stairs slowly, sword leading, dagger ready, moving to within a couple steps of Drizzt.

Who still did not draw his weapons.

"Ready your scimitars," Entreri instructed.

"Why? That we might play as entertainment for Jarlaxle and his band?" Drizzt replied.

"Draw them!" Entreri growled. "Else I'll run you through."

"Will you?" Drizzt calmly asked, and he slowly drew out his blades. As Entreri came on another measured step, the ranger dropped those scimitars to the ground.

Entreri's jaw dropped nearly as far.

"Have you learned nothing in all the years?" Drizzt asked. "How many time must we play this out? Must all of our lives be dedicated to revenge upon whichever of us won the last battle?"

"Pick them up!" Entreri shouted, rushing in so that his sword tip came in at Drizzt's breastbone.

"And then we shall fight," Drizzt said nonchalantly. "And one of us will win, but perhaps the other will survive. And then, of course, we will have to do this all over again, because you believe that you have something to prove."

"Pick them up," Entreri said through gritted teeth, prodding his sword just a bit. Had that blade still been carrying the weight of its magic, the prod surely would have slid it through Drizzt's ribs. "This is the last challenge, for one of us will die this day. Here it is, laid out for us by Jarlaxle, as fair a fight as we might ever find."

Drizzt didn't move.

(373-374)

* * *

Jarlaxle hoped the trial was soon. It wasn't that he looked forward to being judged in front of people that didn't know anything about him. It was that the accommodations were terrible. He slept poorly. Every morning he had new back pains from sleeping on bare stone with only the yellow blanket around him. There was no way to shower, and he had to use the chamber pot in front of the guards. It was a situation only a goblin would have no complaints about. He was forced to wear the same threadbare outfit day in and day out, and it accumulated sweat stains in spite of his best efforts. He was ashamed to be seen. The tin water cup had a dead fly floating in it. The tray of food was always cold. The biscuits were harder than most rocks, the potatoes were never cooked enough, the meat was slimy, the bread was mush and the cheese was crusty. There was nothing to do, nothing to look at, and no one to talk to. He paced constantly, which only wore a hole in both boots, one in the heel and the other in the toe.

And, to top it all off, his head itched because what started off as innocuous little curls insisted on growing into thicker, longer…curlier curls. A drow with curls is conspicuous. The look never suited him anyway. Short was worse than long, and after shaving his head for centuries, of course his hair was going to be shorter before it was longer unless he had a spell or a potion, and he didn't.

Assuming the past few days had been as merciful to Artemis, his friend was most likely half dead. Incarceration was depressing, and Artemis Entreri was already depressed.

Jarlaxle faced the horrible possibility that Artemis had summoned enough will to kill himself, and no one had bothered to tell him because he wasn't important.

Jarlaxle came up to the bars on his cell. "I want to talk to the priest of Ilmater."

The guards grumbled. "We'll tell him." They gave him baleful glares. "If we didn't have to by law, we'd let you rot."

_Strange laws in this place_. "Thank you," Jarlaxle said. He sat down to wait on the stone bench against the far wall, wrapped up in his blanket.

About half an hour later, footsteps came echoing down the stone hallway, and the young man who'd healed him yesterday came into view. He turned to the guards first. "Let me in, please."

"He tried to hit you last time," one guard said.

"You'd think you priests would learn," the other muttered.

"Please." The priest smiled at them and waited.

The guard unlocked the door and slid it open, rattling and screeching on its track.

"Thank you," the priest said, and stepped inside.

The guards stood at the doorway, refusing to shut it behind him.

"What do you want?" the priest asked, finally looking at Jarlaxle. "As I recall, you were none too happy with me."

"I need to know something," Jarlaxle said.

"What is it?"

"Have you treated someone named Artemis Entreri?"

"Your co-conspirator," the priest said.

"So you know that," Jarlaxle said. He searched the priest's face. "Well?"

"I am not allowed to send messages between you," the priest said. "All communication is forbidden. I cannot help you to escape."

"Just tell me if he is alive," Jarlaxle said. "Is he well?"

"I treated him this morning," the priest said. "I came from there in order to talk to you. He had burns on his face and on his arm."

"What of his state of being?" Jarlaxle asked.

The priest looked at him for a moment. "He wouldn't talk to me."

That wasn't surprising to Jarlaxle. "Was he violent towards you?"

"He didn't acknowledge that I existed in front of him," the priest said. He looked uncomfortable, as if he suspected Jarlaxle were trying to get him to say something of importance to an escape attempt. "Is that all? I healed his physical wounds, but he would not let me near him mentally. His physical wounds were of no importance to him."

_They never are. Between us, I seem to be the only one that ever cares_. "That is enough," Jarlaxle said softly. "That is all I wanted to know."

The priest tilted his head and gave Jarlaxle a strange look, as if he encountered something unexpected. "You don't want a similar message to come to him?"  
Jarlaxle looked him in the eyes. "You said communications are forbidden."

"He didn't ask a similar question of me regarding you," the priest said.

"I suspect my friend has temporarily lost the ability to speak," Jarlaxle said. "He is prone to deep melancholies."

The priest rocked back on his heels. "You care about him."

That was the first time Jarlaxle truly looked at him with ire. "Why is that strange to you, a priest of a god who claims to care about everybody?"

"Because you seemed to have such a hard time accepting that," the priest said.

Jarlaxle did stop and ponder the difference. How was it that he could care for Artemis, and he was sure Artemis cared about him, and yet he could not imagine a god caring for either one of them?

"If gods can be anywhere at any given time and can see us even when we cannot see them," Jarlaxle said, "how is it that some people, good or evil, are abandoned by them?" _People like me and Artemis._

The priest said, "Contrary to folk belief, the gods are not all powerful. They vary in their range of power, from weak to strong. A god's strength relies on his followers. If there is no one to follow him, there is no one to help him do his good. Or conversely, no one to help him do his evil. It is a war out there, Jarlaxle." He held out his hands. "I have reached you because I was able to in this place and this time. Every time you needed help, there were people trying to get to you. But sometimes, we can't get there in time." He looked at Jarlaxle sadly. "We are trying as hard as we can. Sometimes, the evil people in the world can win a battle."

"I understand," Jarlaxle said. He didn't. He had no idea what the priest was talking about. He never had someone good looking for him, and he doubted Artemis did, either.

Jarlaxle just wanted to give the priest an easy answer, so the priest would go away instead of trying to explain and convince him that every time he needed, in the human assessment, to be saved, there was someone valiantly making the effort and failing, so that he had to suffer. That thought was even more horrible than the idea that people knew of his plight – knew that as a child he was being incessantly tortured – and those people didn't care because they decided he was evil. Imater had hideous logic. If he had been told as a child that people were trying to save him, but they couldn't, because he was too far away and his sisters were too strong, he would have been hopeless in an entirely new way. Drow children died if they sat in a corner and expected someone to save them.

Jarlaxle felt a small but deep burning anger that anyone could encourage survival instincts as healthy as a drowned kitten in a child, the creature that needed survival instincts the most. Better to tell them no one was fighting for them, so they would be forced to fight for themselves.

Better to be alone.

* * *

The courtroom was magnificent. Its huge stone walls were draped with banners, alternating the crest of the Silver Marches with Silverymoon's symbol, the symbol of Lurue the Unicorn, of Mielikki, and of unfamiliar family crests Jarlaxle presumed were Silverymoon's noble families. People in official looking costumes managed the flow of people coming into a partitioned off section around the courthouse that held over a hundred seats. In the center, Lady Alustriel sat on a throne, radiant, surrounded on either side by standing officials, and two different podiums that stood empty. Across from her, spaced far apart, were two small seating areas. On the far left, Drizzt sat, legs crossed. On the right was Artemis.

When Jarlaxle saw Artemis, he refrained from the million things he wanted to do. He wanted privacy before he let himself have an emotional reaction. Though he wanted to let out a shout, cry, and run over to the assassin, he calmly let the guards escort him across the floor.

The assassin already sat in a partitioned-off part of the courtroom floor, a rectangular box about knee-high with a little door, inside of which sat two chairs. It was raised off the ground level of the courthouse floor, with two little steps leading up. Artemis sat in the chair to the left, staring straight ahead. He looked gaunt and disheveled.

One guard opened the little door for Jarlaxle, and the other stayed at the bottom of the stairs to make sure he couldn't go backwards.

Jarlaxle stepped inside the box and seated himself beside the assassin.

Artemis didn't look at him. His face was healed without a trace of the painful burns, but he was pale and unshaven. With a feeling of some personal insight, Jarlaxle detected pain in his deep gray eyes. He placed his hand on Artemis' arm. Artemis didn't react, but he felt the muscles under his hand quiver and then relax. He looked down and saw that the assassin had unclenched his hands. His palms had dark nail marks imprinted on them.

"It will be alright," Jarlaxle murmured to him in Drow, close to his ear.

A Silverymoon official standing next to Alustriel's throne declared in a sonorous voice, "This trial is now beginning."

After everyone in the room settled down, Alustriel spoke. "Defendants: please stand, so that you may be charged."

Jarlaxle rose to his feet under the baleful eye of the guards. After a moment, Artemis joined him.

"You have been charged with posing a threat to the Silver Marches," Lady Alustriel said. "How do you plead?"

"Are we allowed an explanation of the charge before we plead?" Jarlaxle asked.

"It's self-evident, ye damn drow!" King Battlehammer cried from the audience.

Alustriel gave him a cold look.

He sat down.

"Everyone is entitled to any clarification they need before entering their plea," Lady Alustriel said.

"What is meant by posing a threat?" Jarlaxle asked.

"The charge is that you and your companion, Artemis Entreri, conspire to commit villainous acts in the Silver Marches. A villainous act can be defined as any action to deliberately threaten the lives or livelihood of innocent people."

"Ah." Jarlaxle smiled. "Then we plead not guilty."

A cascade of surprised murmurs took up the audience. They quieted back down when Alustriel raised her hand.

"You, the defendants, may sit."

Jarlaxle and Artemis sat.

"We, the Court of Justice of Silverymoon, mediate this action on the behalf of the accuser, Ranger Drizzt Do'Urden of Mithral Hall, and the accused, Jarlaxle Bregan D'aerthe of Menzoberranzan and Artemis Entreri of Calimshan." Alustriel smiled and herself sat down. "Now we may hear the accuser, Ranger Drizzt Do'Urden of Mithral Hall. Ranger Do'Urden, please take the stand."

Drizzt rose from his seat on the courthouse floor and walked to the raised dais near Alustriel's throne.

"Please place your hand upon your heart," Alustriel said.

Drizzt did so.

"Do you, in the presence of Mielikki and Lurue the Unicorn, in the presence of Deneir, and your patron deity, swear on your honor to utter no word that is not the truth?" Alustriel asked.

"I do," Drizzt said.

"The practitioner of the spell of truth in this courtroom so notes your pledge, and hereby attaches the spell of truth to your person. Should you utter any lie, the court will see a blue light suffuse your figure, and we shall hear the sound of the bell."

"I understand," Drizzt said.

Alustriel smiled at him. "Very well. The questioning can now begin."

A thin, middle-aged man with spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose walked onto the main floor. He wore the robes of a priest of Denier. "Drizzt Do'Urden. Is that your name?"

"Yes, sir," Drizzt said.

"Do you live in Mithral Hall?"

"Yes, I do."

"How long have you resided there?"

"Since Cat – I mean, since Princess Battlehammer was twelve years old, sir." Drizzt shifted on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with his mistake.

"Have you ever broken the laws of the Silver Marches?"

"No, sir."

The priest of Denier gestured to the audience. "Please outline your complaint against these two men for the court."

Jarlaxle saw Drizzt color a little at the request, becoming unbridled in passion. "Artemis Entreri is a vile assassin! He comes from a place where they have no honor. A place where his kind is allowed to foster deception and chaos! He has threatened me and my friends several times in the past, kidnapping dear friends, forcing me to fight him to the death, showing that he holds no concept of decency. He respects no laws, only brute strength, and his sole aim is the suffering of others. He has no family, no home – he leads an empty life of killing and profiting from the pain of others. He is a blight to the Silver Marches, and if he is allowed to travel freely within it, he will bring destruction."

"Thank you." The priest adjusted his spectacles. "What is your complaint against the drow?"

Drizzt glared at Jarlaxle. "Jarlaxle is a manipulator and an opportunist. He profits from pain as much as Entreri does, only he does so with a smile. He is a typical drow. He is greedy, and has no belief in the sanctity of life."

"Do you believe he is as pernicious to the alliance of the Silver Marches as his companion?"

"Jarlaxle is the master of intrigues in Menzoberranzan," Drizzt said. "He is accustomed to carving out a niche for himself by whatever means necessary."

"What threat does he pose to the Silver Marches?" the priest repeated.

Drizzt stared at him, as if he were hard of hearing. "If there were a school of small children in front of him, he would kill them all to get to the gold on the other side. He is not stopped by the things we are. If he wants something, he will strive to get it, no matter what the obstacle in his way. He knows no fear, knows no respect. He would challenge Elminster if he thought it served him. His hubris and his relentlessness could tear down all of Silver Marches if he so desired it. He is the biggest threat of all."

"And you believe some profit will tempt him to do such a thing?" the priest said.

"It is inevitable." Drizzt looked at the audience earnestly.

Jarlaxle felt oddly flattered. He was a yolchol to the young ranger. He started to chuckle, but then reminded himself that this was one case where striking awe into the hearts of drow children everywhere was a bad thing.

"You may return to your seat," the priest said.

Drizzt walked down the steps of the raised dais and crossed the courtroom floor to his seat. He sat down and folded his hands in his lap.

The priest turned to the audience. "These are the accusations we will be investigating."

"It is time to hear the accused," Alustriel said. "We will listen to their version of events, and so decide with the help of this court what punishment, if any, is deserved." She smiled at Jarlaxle and Artemis. "Place your hands upon your hearts please."

They did.

"Artemis Entreri, do you, in the presence of Mielikki and Lurue the Unicorn, in the presence of Deneir, and your patron deity, swear on your honor to utter no word that is not the truth?"

"I have no patron deity," Artemis said. He spoke slowly and clearly.

"I will rephrase," Alustriel said. "Do you, in the presence of Mielikki and Lurue the Unicorn, and in the presence of Denier, swear on your honor to utter no word that is not the truth?"

"I swear," Artemis said.

Alustriel turned her gaze to the drow mercenary. "Jarlaxle Bregan D'aerthe, do you, in the presence of Mielikki and Lurue the Unicorn, in the presence of Deneir, and your patron deity, swear on your honor to utter no word that is not the truth?"

"I have no patron deity, either," Jarlaxle said, smiling.

"Then I shall rephrase." Alustriel smiled back. "Do you, in the presence of Mielikki and Lurue the Unicorn, and in the presence of Denier, swear on your honor to utter no word that is not the truth?"

"I swear it gladly, and with all my heart," Jarlaxle said.

Alustriel said, "The practitioner of the spell of truth in this courtroom so notes your pledges, and hereby attaches the spell of truth to your persons. Should you utter any lie, the court will see a blue light suffuse your figures, and we shall hear the sound of the bell."

The priest of Denier walked over to the box where they sat. "Do you understand?"

"We understand," Jarlaxle said cheerfully.

Artemis gave him an odd look.

"Very well. The questioning can now begin." Alustriel's expression turned serious.

The priest adjusted his glasses. "Is your name Artemis Entreri?"

Artemis stared at him.

Jarlaxle looked at Artemis in concern. His friend was suddenly paling. Nothing was happening. He wasn't speaking a single word. Jarlaxle nudged him with his elbow. He sat perfectly still and didn't even glare at him.

"You must answer the question," the priest said.

"You must answer the question," Alustriel agreed gently.

When Artemis spoke, his voice was hoarse. "That is what I choose to call myself."

"What is the name that was given to you at your birth?" the priest asked.

Artemis' eyes darkened. His body tensed up completely.

Jarlaxle thought he was trying to will himself to be not here. To will himself to be somewhere else. _What could disturb you so much?_

"Artemis…Baghir." Artemis' voice almost failed him.

"Artemis Baghir –"

"That is not my name," Artemis snarled, suddenly rising to his feet. His fists were clenched so hard Jarlaxle thought his fingernails might draw blood from his palms.

"Sit down," Alustriel said.

Artemis looked at her for a moment. His face was blotchy, flushed spots on his cheeks.

Jarlaxle reached up and touched his arm.

He looked at Jarlaxle as if he had forgotten the drow was there. After a moment, he slowly sat back down.

The priest looked unruffled. He looked as though he'd had people threatening his life a million times over, and he just wasn't shaken anymore. "Why is that not your name?"

Artemis breathed in through his nose and out through clenched teeth. "My mother married another man." His voice was strangled. "A man not my father."

"Why did she do this?"

Artemis looked at the priest with hatred. "To avoid my being born out of wedlock."

"When did you change your name?"

"I was age five."

"Why?"

Artemis spoke to him as he would a hard of hearing, mentally challenged child. "Because. That's. Not. My. Name."

"Why are you here in Silverymoon?" the priest asked.

"I was looking for Jarlaxle," Artemis said, looking at Jarlaxle with an expression that the mercenary did not very much like.

"Thank you." The priest of Denier turned to Jarlaxle. "Your name is Jarlaxle Bregan D'aerthe?"

Jarlaxle laughed and played with the collar of his shirt as if it were uncomfortable around his neck. "No, no." He grinned and held up a hand. "Actually, it is Jarlaxle Baenre." He heard Drizzt gasp. "We can skip all the awkward questioning. I was a Baenre child, a child born from the female in charge, but she threw me out when I was an adolescent because she didn't like the way I turned out. I had to start a name for myself. Next question, please."

Artemis was staring at him. He shrugged sheepishly.

"Now that both of your names are correct," the priest said with a touch of asperity, "we can begin the questioning." "What were you doing in Silverymoon?" he asked Jarlaxle.

"Passing through," Jarlaxle said. Jarlaxle wanted to tell him that Artemis was actively planning his death, but he decided against it.

"What did you plan to do while you passed through Silverymoon?"

"Go sight seeing," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis raised an eyebrow at him.

"I see," the priest said. He adjusted his glasses. "Where were you on the way to?"

"Skullport," Jarlaxle said.

"Why?"

"Because there is already a drow population in Skullport and I would not be seen as an outcast," Jarlaxle said.

"What would you do in Skullport?"

"Start a new business," Jarlaxle said.

"Would this new business have anything to do with Silverymoon or the rest of the Silver Marches?"

"It isn't likely, no," Jarlaxle said.

"If you did do any business in the Silver Marches, would it be to harm innocent people?" the priest asked.

"Never," Jarlaxle said.

He imagined that Drizzt was trying to will a blue aura and a bell toll.

Both were conspicuously absent.

"I have no further questions," the priest said. He turned to Alustriel and bowed. "I turn this proceeding over to you, my lady."

"Thank you," Alustriel said. "You have done your duty well. Now, you may return to your accustomed place."

The priest left the main floor.

"This court has heard the complaint of the accuser, the ranger Drizzt Do'Urden of Mithral Hall," Alustriel said. "Based on the inquiry of this court room, guided by Denier and blessed by Mielikki and Lurue the Unicorn, the accused bear no threat to the alliance of the Silver Marches." Her eyes swept the courthouse. "My judgment is to release these travelers, with the effects they held in their possession at the time of their arrest. As well, they would be rewarded with provisions and whatever equipment they require as compensation for their detainment. All in favor of my judgment, please stand."

Almost as one, people all over the courthouse stood in a deafening movement like the march of an army. Jarlaxle watched Drizzt's dismay out of the corner of his eye.

"Thank you," Alustriel said. She smiled radiantly. "You may all be seated. In overwhelming majority of this court, the defendants await their release and compensation. This court…is dismissed."

The guards that had looked upon Jarlaxle so harshly now bowed to him and opened the door of the raised box, waiting for him and Artemis to descend. Jarlaxle nodded at them to show that he didn't hold their previous actions against them, and then he looked at Artemis.

Artemis still sat in his chair, staring straight ahead.

Jarlaxle nudged him, and when that didn't garner an answer, he leaned over and looked into Entreri's eyes. His eyes showed the same torment they had been consumed by when the trial began.

Jarlaxle understood that Artemis' trouble had nothing to do with the outcome of the trial. He put his arm around Artemis and pulled the assassin to his feet as he stood up. Artemis didn't resist.

Jarlaxle walked down the steps with him, out of the defendant's box. Artemis stopped, digging in his heels so firmly that Jarlaxle waited for him. Artemis seemed to wake up a little bit. The torment in his eyes got shoved to the background by something else. He looked around for the first time, and Jarlaxle saw his pupils dilate.

Jarlaxle just started to lift his arm from his friend's shoulders and ask him if he was alright when he felt the assassin shifting. A charge of electricity radiated onto his side and he knew Artemis' muscles bunched, ready to spring.

As if caught in a time distortion spell on the battlefield, Jarlaxle moved clear of him, time beating slowly in his ears.

Then everything caught up at once. Artemis shot away from him, through the crowd.

"Hey!" the guards cried.

Jarlaxle shifted in front of them, grabbing the guard's arm when he drew his sword. "No," he said, and because he was a free man, they listened. They stopped. Jarlaxle let go of the guard's arm, and he sheathed his sword, scowling. Jarlaxle held out his hands. "Artemis needs to be alone."

* * *

Artemis didn't notice Jarlaxle's kindness, his loyalty in this moment of desperation. He ran, never looked back. If he stayed in this room one moment longer, he was going to lose control, and he didn't know if that meant he would slaughter everyone or fall to the floor and cry.

He glanced around for the nearest door. His eyes shifted over the crowd, but he kept his head down. Once he caught sight of it, he changed his direction to angle towards it.

He wanted to run as far away as possible from Jarlaxle. If he felt Jarlaxle's presence behind him he would probably attack him. He didn't want anyone to be near him.

He didn't give a damn about Alustriel's decision, her attempt to give them some consolation prizes for making it through her court system and winning. He didn't want her stuff.

He threw open the door and expelled himself into the empty hallway. He gasped for air. Was it a sigh of relief or a shaky, inhaled breath? He ran, searching for a safe place to hide. At least for a little while. He couldn't leave – he couldn't stand the snow in his flimsy prisoner's wardrobe. But he could hide.

The tall, vaulted ceilings cast many shadows. Thin, arched windows almost reaching the ceiling, certainly almost nine feet tall, had eaves. Artemis looked for a place when the marble scrollwork along the seam of the wall and ceiling and the eaves of the windows met. A nice, dark corner along the ceiling supports.

He looked both ways down the deserted hallway. The scrollwork met support beam and a gargoyle-like bust of a unicorn, high up, an inviting triangle of darkness. He climbed the wall, using the stonework around a window for its easy finger holds, and worked his way over to the protruding unicorn's head.

He was soon crouching atop it, looking down at the hallway below. Still nobody.

He walked, crouching low, across the scrollwork protruding from the wall and eased himself into the dark corner, a small cubbyhole of a space where the angle of the roof and the ceiling supports cradled him. It was surprisingly free of dust, but he supposed they had a spell for that.

He curled into a ball, knees clasped to his chin, waiting for everyone to forget he ever existed. It hadn't been so hard, at one time. He was insignificant; physically slight and unimportant.

He doubted Jarlaxle could find him now, without his magical tools. For once, he was alone. He didn't want to hear Jarlaxle's words. Whatever they may be, he knew he didn't want to hear it. Whether it was some attempt at sympathy, or some expression of disgust. It didn't matter.

Hundreds of people now knew what he would have killed anyone for finding out, and he couldn't kill them all. That was ludicrous. Worst of all, he was just some spectacle to them. He wasn't a person. He was Artemis Entreri, the assassin on trial for making an enemy of Drizzt. His life, his concerns, his feelings didn't matter to them. They would forget everything about him, except that he was a bastard son of some woman in Calimshan who married a rich merchant to hide her shame. And if they met anyone in a tavern that asked them about the trial, they would relate what a sorry son of a bitch he was, born a bastard son like that. They wouldn't bother to tell the result of the trial. Everyone knew that part. No, they would talk about the smiling drow outcast and the bastard assassin from Calimshan.

Bastard assassin. He'd run away from that tease for all of his adult life, and now it happened anyway.

He recalled, unbidden, what Dondon had said one night when they were on the street together. "Bastard? So what? What's the big deal?" The halfling shrugged. "It's how you enjoy life that matters."

Artemis was disconcerted. He'd never thought Dondon and Jarlaxle were much alike – Dondon was contented with his station while Jarlaxle was ambitious – but Jarlaxle had told him exactly the same thing, more than one time.

Of course, Dondon hadn't known – had he? – that Artemis himself was disgraced by birth, but they had come around to the subject somehow, probably prompted by something they saw. He couldn't remember.

Artemis had heard the words that they thought should help. Words from born partiers. If it were as simple as that, once he realized the error of his ways and became content to seek enjoyment in his life, shouldn't things have already changed? If it were as simple as Jarlaxle giving him advice and him taking it, why did it sting to think of everyone knowing the circumstances of his birth?

He didn't know how to enjoy himself. He didn't know what he wanted. He'd known what he wanted when it was simple. He chased Jarlaxle down because he wanted to confront him. Without confrontation, without the simple and direct here and now of reacting to things around him, where was he? In a formless, gray existence where nothing mattered.

He needed conflict. He needed conflict not for its resolution, but for the turmoil it stirred in him. Conflict made him feel, forced him to have definite opinions and a course of action he could dedicate himself to.

Without it, he was just another child without a mother, another child whose father abandoned him and left him to wander the streets, sword in hand, wondering if anyone would ever want to take him in.

Conflict gave him something to believe in.

In all this time, Artemis had simply pretended to be angry with Jarlaxle for dragging him into mess after mess of the drow's own business. He had not wanted to appear so weak that he needed someone else to tell him what to do. He hadn't wanted to be discovered…because if Jarlaxle discovered him, who he really was, Jarlaxle would take it away. Jarlaxle would take it away from him because Jarlaxle would realize he was weak. Not weak at the moment, but a weak person. He hadn't wanted his easy conflicts taken away.

He needed a fight. He realized that the change in his profession could be accounted for simply by saying he was nomadically following the fight. If he had no heroes to fight, he would simply fight villains. He had no way to fight Drizzt again – Jarlaxle had taken the fun out that anyway – so he looked for someone else.

Tandy now seemed out of the question, because she was stronger than him by a significant margin due to her magic. And he preferred a warrior, like himself. Like Drizzt had been, before events conspired to suck the enjoyment out of that fight.

He was an addict that needed a fix. It was pathetic, but he couldn't help himself.

Perhaps he could fight paladins. They seemed plentiful. No one would miss a few if he started killing them off. They bred like rabbits.

Artemis realized that his distress and turmoil finally passed, leaving him calm. He could survive. He could keep his head without panic pushing at him inside his body, trying to be let out.

* * *

Thank you Ariel D. Without your comments to bolster my confidence, this story would never finish.


	9. Chapter 9: Where I Most Wish To Be

**Chapter 9**

Where I Most Wish To Be

Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

"Do we battle now?" Kimmuriel Oblodra asked when Jarlaxle neared.

"Rai-guy is dead, the Crystal Shard destroyed," Jarlaxle replied. "What would be the purpose?"

Entreri noted that Kimmuriel did not wince at either proclamation.

"Ah, but I guess that you have tasted the sweetness of power, yes?" Jarlaxle asked with a chuckle. "You are seated at the head of Bregan D'aerthe now, it would seem, and you suppose all by yourself. You have little desire to relinquish your garnered position?"

Kimmuriel started to shake his head – it was obvious to Entreri that he was about to try to make peace here with Jarlaxle – but the surprising Jarlaxle cut short Kimmuriel's response. "Very well then!" Jarlaxle said dramatically. "I have little desire for yet another fight, Kimmuriel, and I accept and understand that my actions of late have likely earned me too many enemies within the ranks of Bregan D'aerthe for my return as leader."

"You are surrendering?" Kimmuriel asked doubtfully, and he seemed even more on his guard then, as did the foot-soldiers standing behind him.

"Hardly," Jarlaxle replied with another chuckle. "And I warn you, if you continue to do battle with me, or even to pursue me and track my whereabouts, I will indeed challenge you for the position you have rightfully earned."

Entreri listened intently, shaking his head, certain that he must be getting some of the words, at least, very wrong.

Kimmuriel started to respond, but stuttered over a few words, and just gave up with a great sigh.

"Do well with Bregan D'aerthe," Jarlaxle warned. "I will rejoin you one day and will demand of you that we share the leadership. I expect to find a band of mercenaries as strong as the one I now willingly leave behind." He looked to the other three. "Serve him with honor."

"Any reunion between us will not be in Calimport," Kimmuriel assured him, "nor anywhere else on the cursed surface. I am bound for home, Jarlaxle, back to the caverns that are our true domain."

Jarlaxle nodded, as did the three foot-soldiers.

"And you?" Kimmuriel asked.

The former mercenary leader only shrugged and smiled again. "I cannot know where I most wish to be because I have not seen all that there is."

(356-357)

* * *

The guards escorted Jarlaxle to another room adjacent to the courtroom. The walls were panels of mahogany. The floors matched it, only more highly polished, and a strip of rich sapphire blue carpet led to a desk and high backed chair with scrolled arms.

Drizzt and his friends surrounded Alustriel, all talking at once. The silver-haired woman, Jarlaxle judged, hadn't even had time to sit before they started demanding her attention. She was still a good five paces from her chair.

Jarlaxle wanted to ask the guards why he was here, but he was a spy. He could figure it out if he used his ears.

Catti-brie's voice rose strident above the rest. "Ask her why she let them go!"

Alustriel's rich, throaty voice started to respond. "I cannot keep them simply because –"

And was drowned out by King Battlehammer swearing. "Ye damned elf!"

Jarlaxle blinked, folded his hands, and waited. He hadn't been noticed yet.

"My lady," Drizzt said, pensive and begging. His voice was much tinier than his friends', but they all fell silent to hear him.

Alustriel turned flashing eyes to him, her mouth hard and stern.

"Just because I couldn't prove their actions the way you wanted me to, why do you have to let them go?" Drizzt asked.

If it were a safer situation, Jarlaxle would have been amused and entertained by Drizzt's naiveté. He winced a little bit, hoping that Alustriel wouldn't listen to his protest.

Alustriel took his chin to make the ranger's eyes stop wandering around the room. "Drizzt, my dear friend," she said gently. "You may not understand what has happened, but as a magistrate in this city as well as its leader, I must tell you to stop your inquiry and pursuit of them. They have been proven not guilty of the crimes you wish to accuse them of; you cannot accuse them again. If you arouse any turmoil in this court, I will have to take away your rights, and oh, my friend, I don't want to do that!"

Jarlaxle put on a strained grin. "I am present, Lady?"

They all turned to him. Drizzt's and his companions' expressions held varying degrees of hostility. Alustriel's face was neutral.

Alustriel asked, "Where is Artemis Entreri?"

Jarlaxle was relieved that she did not say 'Baghir', in spite of the fact that her trial brought that ugly fragment from Artemis' past out into the open. That led him to answer her more truthfully. "He ran away. He is probably somewhere in the building but out of sight." He frowned, making his expression close to an accusation. "He needed time to be alone."

"He's loose?" Drizzt protested.

Alustriel silenced his outburst with a look and then regarded Jarlaxle with her full attention. "I am sorry that I have put you and your friend through unnecessary hardship."

"I don't need an apology," Jarlaxle said. He didn't change his expression. "Artemis is the one this trial hurt. He kept his past in the past, where he wanted it. You forced it to come back. I don't want an apology for myself; I want an apology for him."

"I am truly sorry," Alustriel said. "I know that the trial process can be painful, and I didn't intend for you, or him, to be affected in any way."

Jarlaxle hardened his eyes a little more, not testing the edge of the blade he walked on, but pressing just a little more, just enough to make a white mark on the skin. "Then prove it. He will not believe you. Words have very little meaning to him. If he is going to forgive, he will want compensation."

King Battlehammer started to roar something outraged, but he couldn't get more than a syllable out of his mouth before Alustriel silenced him with a look the same she had Drizzt.

Alustriel pressed her hands together politely and said, "I have allowed for some compensation in my ruling. What is your request, so that I may not make an enemy of a person I have no quarrel with?"

"I want you to apologize to him," Jarlaxle said. "In person. He does not respect an authority figure without the courage to speak for themselves. I want you to rule that no one is to mention anything of the trial, to each other or to someone that doesn't know what this trial contains."

"It is done," Alustriel said. "Easily done. Trials are solemn events not to be discussed. I will simply remind the people of the jury audience not to speak of these events. Please, is there something else I may do for you or your friend?"

Jarlaxle thought quickly, not wanting to miss the unexpected opportunity, and was struck by genius. "Allow him to take on the name he deserves. If there is any way to change his name in the eyes of Deneir, do it, so that he may never have to suffer this humiliation again."

Alustriel's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I can do it. I can have a scribe of Deneir take down his name in one of their books of gathered knowledge. They use enchanted quills of truth – name changes have been enacted this way before. I will contact a scribe immediately."

She clapped her hands. Jarlaxle noticed that when she did, a ring on her finger glowed silver.

A moment later, a tall, bearded human male opened the door and entered. His hair was white, and his skin had the papery quality of the elderly, but he had a regal mein and was in good health. He was dressed as some kind of official but also as a mage. He came up to Lady Alustriel and bowed.

"Taern," Alustriel said.

"Yes?" the man asked.

Alustriel touched his shoulder. "Please contact a scribe of Denier. Bring him or her to my office, if you can, please."

"Of course, my lady," Taern said. "Is that all?"

She smiled. "Yes. Thank you."

Taern bowed again and then left.

Alustriel turned to Jarlaxle. "It is done."

"Anything else?" Catti-brie asked snidely.

Jarlaxle looked at her with hooded eyes, trying to resist the urge to strangle her, and then smiled. "A kiss would be nice, for all the times I made sure you and your friends got home safely, but I won't insist."

"Catti-brie," Alustriel said, gently rebuking.

Catti-brie bit her tongue, scowled, and turned away.

Alustriel said, "Princess Battlehammer is right to ask. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I wish to have your help in finding Artemis," Jarlaxle said, spreading his hands. "I don't know where he is, and I am not familiar with this building. I am certain he has not left, but I will not find him for several hours if I search by myself."

"Several hours?" Alustriel asked.

"He is an assassin," Jarlaxle said. "He is adept at finding out of the way places and at melting into the shadows. This is a large building."

Alustriel nodded. "It is done. When you are ready, I will assist you in your search. This building is mine, after all, so I should be able to help." She smiled.

Jarlaxle gave her a low bow. "Thank you, my lady."

* * *

Artemis rested his head on his knees, waiting to feel completely ready to come down from his hiding spot and face people, let people look at him. The quiet darkness was comforting.

Instead of hearing something, he felt something. He looked up. Someone was feeling out his location with magic. He could feel the brush of static electricity on his skin. Jarlaxle? But why – how?

A small sound reached his ears. Voice. Female. Down below, in the hallway. He frowned.

Artemis crawled forward and looked over the edge of his perch.

Jarlaxle, humble and curly-headed, looked back at him. He was rising straight up in the air. The drow still wore his prison clothes. Jarlaxle levitated up all the way and sat on the sculpted neck of the marble unicorn head, nonchalantly resting both hands on it.

"Hello," Artemis said. He leaned back, into his cubbyhole. Then he shifted so he sat with his legs dangling off the ledge, mirroring Jarlaxle's casual position.

For a moment, Jarlaxle just gave him a little, quiet smile.

"Nice place you've got here," he said.

Artemis returned the smile, an action calmer than he was. A mask, a deception they both expected. "Thank you. I found it recently. The rent is cheap," he gestured, "and the neighbors are friendly. They don't stop in, and I don't make noise."

Jarlaxle nodded sagely. A slight frown made a worry line appear between his eyebrows. "What are you doing up here?"

Artemis shrugged, not sure what Jarlaxle wanted from him.

"Thinking?" Jarlaxle asked. His voice was gentle.

Artemis nodded. He didn't see where Jarlaxle's point was, but he didn't think it would do any harm to admit he was thinking.

"I see," Jarlaxle said. "Will you come down?"

Artemis looked at him, gauging him, trying to feel out where his friend's preference lay. He thought about what the consequences of ducking back into his dark corner were. Whether he thought Jarlaxle would leave if he did that. That was probably not a possibility. He gave up many hiding places as a child. When they were discovered, they were never the same. The warm feeling disappeared from them. Artemis looked around his hiding place with a pang of regret, silently bidding it goodbye.

"I'm coming down," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle smiled. "Good." He hopped off the unicorn head and floated in the air next to it. He opened his arms.

Artemis stared at him. Then he glared. "No."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "It was a suggestion." He slowly drifted down to the hallway floor.

Artemis climbed out of his hiding place – useful though it had been – and down the wall, finding finger holds and toe holds without thinking about it. He looked down and saw Alustriel below, looking at him with wide eyes, but he didn't feel he did anything out of the ordinary.

"Without my magic, it would have taken us days to find him," Alustriel said to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "That's Artemis." He gave Artemis a wide grin as he joined them. "He is an incredible man."

Artemis didn't absorb the meaning of those words. He looked at Alustriel with a questioning frown. "What are you doing here? Did Jarlaxle really have the audacity to recruit you to do his bidding?" He rested a hand at his hip, where his dagger usually was, seeking out its comforting hilt. "You should have told him no."

"I came here to apologize," Alustriel said.

Artemis looked at her with flat suspicion. "What do you care? You're friends with Drizzt-stinking-Do'Urden. If you hadn't listened to his childish ravings, you wouldn't be in this position, looking like a fool. Get him to apologize to you, if you can. I don't care what you do." He turned his back to her and started walking down the hall.

Jarlaxle gestured helplessly for a moment, mouth agape.

Alustriel stepped firmly in front of the assassin.

Artemis stopped and eyed her as a bull in a pasture might.

"I have reparations to make to you, courtesy of the church of Deneir," Alustriel said. "If you come with me, we may correct this grievous mistake and ensure that it never happens again."

"What mistake?" Artemis snarled, looking from her to Jarlaxle.

"Your name," Jarlaxle said in a little voice, grinning and raising an index finger. He withered under Artemis' glare.

"What about my name?" Artemis shouted.

"If we have a scribe of Deneir write down your name in his little book," Jarlaxle said, "he can make sure no one ever accidentally calls you that other one." He shifted his eyes from Artemis to the hallway around them. "Not that anyone would – Alustriel will make sure that no one speaks of this to –"

"I don't care!" Artemis yelled. "They can say my name to the fucking heavens for all I care! I don't have to prove who I am!" Shaking, flushed with anger, he lowered his voice to a quiet speaking tone. "I know who I am."

Jarlaxle nodded emphatically along with his statements, eyes wide. When he finished, Jarlaxle said, "Yes, yes, of course, we're not doubting that you are who you know you are, are. Um. I only thought that it might be in the best interests of…" Jarlaxle squeezed his eyes most of the way shut, a trickle of sweat on his forehead. He grimaced as if he knew not what he was going to say. "…accuracy, to, uh, make sure this never happens again." His expression relaxed in relief, apparently deciding that his word choice had been adequate.

If Artemis hadn't been so angry, he would have found it amusing that Jarlaxle was this afraid of what he would do. He bowed sarcastically to Alustriel, a caustic smirk twisting his lips. "Very well, we shall do what you want."

Jarlaxle breathed a sigh of relief.

Back in the office adjacent to the courtroom, Artemis carefully spelled his name to the scribe, a woman whose round face was only emphasized by her round, bottle-thick glasses. Her hand shook at the tension she perceived in Artemis' face. He was pleased to note she accurately assessed him as a very dangerous man.

After that, Alustriel summoned a pair of guards to show them through the building, so they didn't get lost.

They ended up in a room where they sat down in a couple of upholstered chairs in front of a desk. An official talked to them while getting supplies from the other room, and another person in official garb came in fifteen minutes later, carrying their effects.

By that time, Artemis' anger left him. He felt like an empty sack.

Jarlaxle's eyes lit up when he saw the thing resting at the top of the wooden box. "Ah! My hat!"

Artemis snorted quietly and shook his head. Ever was Jarlaxle more than appropriately happy to see that purple felt hat. "It is your hat, Jarlaxle, not your familiar."

Jarlaxle paused in the act of stroking it.

"Your weapon, sir," the keeper said, handing him the sheathed and peace-tied sword.

Artemis buckled the sword with the jeweled handle to his belt without expression, barely glancing at it.

They were led to another room, where they were allowed to freshen up and don their new clothing. It seemed out of place for a courthouse, Artemis mused. It was sort of a stately powder room. Scrolled maple leaf molding went around the perimeter of the ceiling, and in contrast to the predominant blues of the Silverymoon banners elsewhere in the courthouse, the room was wallpapered in red, green, and gold stripes of alternate sizes. There was a marble sink with a gold framed mirror above it and a full length mirror on a wooden stand across the room.

He stared about the room until Jarlaxle's quiet voice interrupted him. "Are you not going to shave? I see the proper tools laid out for our convenience."

He looked at Jarlaxle and followed the drow's pointing finger to a cloth at the sink vanity. It held a lathering brush, a small, round tin of shaving cream, and a straight razor.

"You go first," Jarlaxle said, smiling at him. The assassin's preoccupation worried him. He nodded to an open doorway. "I see a bath in the next room. I am going to clean up first. These days of imprisonment wreaked havoc on my personal hygiene."

The prissy comment would have usually awarded him an exasperated look, if not a barbed comment, but Artemis didn't seem to react.

The assassin started the task of shaving mechanically, staring in the mirror as though he didn't recognize his reflection.

Jarlaxle gave himself a full bath complete with lavender scented bath suds. When he was done, he drained the tub and dried himself off with a fluffy cotton towel hanging over a rack. Humming happily to himself, he walked out to the powder room and looked at himself in the full length mirror.

Artemis, still partially white-bearded with lather, turned and stared at him after catching his reflection in the sink mirror. "Are you sure that door is locked?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "I do not care. If someone comes in at this very moment, they should count themselves glad to see my unfettered beauty."

Artemis made a choking noise. "What are you doing standing over there without a scrap of clothing on your carcass anyway?"

"Appreciating myself," Jarlaxle said. He did a little spin and held out his arms, smiling radiantly. "Am I not beautiful?"

Artemis finished shaving in a series of quick strokes and put down the razor, splashing some water on his face. He now looked like the man Jarlaxle remembered, the precise lines of his mustache and beard accentuating his sharp, delicate bone structure. "Bath," he said.

He closed the bathing room door behind him.

Jarlaxle chuckled, amused by the man's skittishness as always, and took Artemis' spot in order to shave his head. It would feel so good to have a clean, smooth head again. He lathered himself up and did a careful job in the mirror, feeling vicious satisfaction at the silver curls lying forlornly in the sink.

He'd just about finished when Artemis came out the bathing room, wrapped in two towels. He watched that spectacle out of the corner of his eye in disbelief. Artemis had one towel around his shoulders like a coat, hiding most of his chest, and another towel around his waist to guard his privates. Why bother?

Jarlaxle refrained from comment, noting that Artemis would never appreciate all the times he kept silent, which were many, in lieu of harping on all the times he wouldn't keep his mouth shut. There was little thanks in being a good friend.

Artemis began dressing, first donning clean undergarments. He kept the towel around his waist with one hand and dressed with the other, only dropping the towel when he was covered up.

Jarlaxle finished shaving his head and rinsed, sighing with satisfaction as he rubbed his hand over his scalp.

He joined Artemis' side for a moment to take some clothing for himself and went over by the full length mirror. The drow mercenary dressed with an eye for color, pairing a turquoise shirt with a red vest, and then pulling on a wolf fur coat over that. He adjusted the collar of the coat several times until he was sure he looked as dashing as possible.

When he turned to Artemis, the assassin was staring numbly down at the new array of clothing, half dressed in his new buckskin breeches and outer loincloth, barefoot and bare-chested.

Jarlaxle stopped his mirror preening and went over to him. Instead of saying anything, he put his hands on Artemis' arms, making the assassin face him.

Artemis looked at him. His gray eyes were full of confusion and longing that he was afraid to have.

Jarlaxle pulled him closer gently and folded his arms around the Calishite, feeling his slender form.

Artemis shifted in his arms but didn't try to get away as Jarlaxle might have expected him to, a few years ago when their friendship was still fresh.

Artemis spoke. It was pure intonation and sound, the way moss growing in the woods and swords on whetstones were intonation and sound. "I thought you died. Then they took you away. I should have killed them all before I let that happen."

"I am alright," Jarlaxle said.

"This time. What about next time?"

"Next time, we shall be better prepared," Jarlaxle said. "This time was a fluke."

Artemis shook his head. "You cannot be prepared enough to prevent disaster. It is inevitable."

"I never try to prevent a disaster," Jarlaxle said. "I simply mean that next time, we shall be better prepared to profit from it."

"Next time..." Artemis frowned.

Jarlaxle released him and winked. "Get dressed. We don't want Drizzt walking in and finding you like this. He might think something about us."

That brought the smile to Artemis' face he was hoping for. The assassin snorted and began to pull on a new undershirt. "Would that be so terrible? It might shock his little mind so far beyond its capacity his brainpower might actually show up to a psionicist."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Yes. Imagine what Kimmuriel could do with him once his mind actually puts out enough of a signal to control?"

"We could have Mithral Hall cleared in about a week," Artemis said, pulling on a black tunic. "Then we'd have it all to ourselves." He paused, checking his weapons for the first time. "What do they have, again?"

"Dirt and rocks."

"Oh, yes," Artemis said. "Then we could have all their dirt and rocks to ourselves."

"We'd be millionaires," Jarlaxle said. "Some people would pay a king's ransom for rocks and dirt."

"Who would do that?" Artemis asked.

"People who have no dirt or rocks, I imagine," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis finished dressing with a brown doublet, new fur lined boots and fur lined wool cape. He tossed a pair of gloves to Jarlaxle, and then wiggled his fingers into a new pair of gloves himself.

"Where are we going?" he asked without looking up.

"Home," Jarlaxle said, and watched for Artemis' reaction.

The assassin looked up from his gloves at him. "I don't have a home."

"You have a home wherever I am," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis looked away, unable to hold his gaze on Jarlaxle's face. "I am not going back to the Underdark."

"It isn't safe here," Jarlaxle said. "You have nowhere else to go. Calimport is a disaster area, and the Silver Marches isn't an option."

"We could still go to Skullport," he said, but he didn't really sound like he wanted to. His posture was defeated.

Jarlaxle didn't have a ready answer to that. He wasn't sure what Artemis wanted, what Artemis wanted from him.

"Jarlaxle, why?" Artemis sighed. "Why did you…run? Was it only the simple reason that you didn't trust me? Or was it something else? Anything else?"

Jarlaxle couldn't find his tongue for a moment. "I ran away from you as fast as I could to keep you from being killed."

Artemis looked at him.

"I didn't want that," Jarlaxle said. He searched his friend's face, hoping that the one time he laid his heart bare, the person he wanted most to see it would understand him, would see he was being truthful, would see how much it hurt him to have to say something like this.

Artemis looked into his glowing crimson eyes.

"I believe you," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle clapped him on the shoulder, grinning in relief.

The assassin did one better and hugged him. Jarlaxle gave a start at that unexpected development. A slow smile spread across the mercenary's face. Artemis looked at him with a strange expression, as if Artemis didn't expect hugging someone to feel the way it did. He let go after a moment.

"Where will we go?" Artemis whispered.

"Wherever you want to go," Jarlaxle said, knowing it was a promise he would have to keep.

"Not Calimport, not the Underdark," Artemis said.

"Let's ask for a map," Jarlaxle suggested.

* * *

Thanks to Ariel D keeping me honest and keeping me out of trouble, you had a new chapter to read. ;p


	10. Chapter 10: The Chivalry of a Drow

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's Starless Night:

Entreri wasn't about to ask what drow female he was killing this time. He was working in concert with Bregan D'aerthe, and this drow, like the one in the mushroom house, had interfered, and was a witness.

A timely glance showed him something that gave him pause, though, showed him a familiar jeweled dagger hanging on this drow's belt.

Entreri studied the female closely, kept his sword tip at her neck, drawing small droplets of blood. He shifted the weapon deftly, and a subtle ridge showed along the female's smooth skin.

"Why are you here?" Entreri asked breathlessly, honestly surprised. He knew that this one had not come to Menzoberranzan beside Drizzt – Counsilor Firble of Blingdenstone certainly would have mentioned her. Jarlaxle certainly would have known about her!

Yet here she was, surprisingly resourceful.

Entreri shifted the sword again from her neck, then delicately tipped it up under the crease beneath her chin and used it to remove the magical mask.

Catti-brie fought hard to sublimate her mounting terror. This was too much like the first time she had been in Artemis Entreri's clutches; the assassin evoked an almost irrational horror in her, a deep fear that no other monster, neither a dragon nor a fiend of Tarterus, could bring.

Here he was again, amazingly alive, with his sword to her vulnerable throat.

"An unexpected bonus," Entreri mused. He chuckled evilly, as though he was trying to sort out the best way to make his prisoner profitable.

Catti-brie thought of leaping over the ledge – if she had been near a cliff a thousand feet in the air, she would have considered it! She felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle, felt sweat beading on her brow.

"No," she uttered, and Entreri's features twisted with confusion.

"No?" he echoed, not understanding that her remark had been aimed inward.

Catti-brie steeled her gaze at him. "So ye've survived," she remarked matter-of-factly. "To go and live among those who're most akin to ye."

She saw by the assassin's slight grimace that Entreri did not like that description. He confirmed that fact by punching her with his sword hilt, raising a welt on the woman's cheek and bringing a trickle of blood from her nose.

Catti-brie fell back, but straightened immediately, and stared at the assassin with unblinking eyes. She would not give Entreri the satisfaction of terror, not this time.

"I should kill you," Entreri whispered. "Slowly."

Catti-brie laughed at him. "Then do," she replied. "Ye've no hold over me, not since I've seen the proof that Drizzt is yer better."

Entreri, in sudden rage, almost ran her through. "Was," he corrected, then he looked wickedly to the ledge.

"I've seen ye both fall more than once," Catti-brie asserted with as much conviction as she could muster in that dark moment. "I'll not call either of ye dead until I've felt the cold body!"

"Drizzt is alive," came a whisper from behind, spoken in perfect surface Common, as Jarlaxle and two Bregan D'aerthe soldiers moved to join the assassin. One of them stopped to finish off the squirming drow with the wounded side.

His rage taking control, Entreri instinctively swung again at Catti-brie, but this time the woman lifted a stiffened hand and turned her wrist, subtly diverting the blow.

Then Jarlaxle was between them, eyeing Catti-brie with more than a passing interest. "By the luck of a Lloth-blessed spider," the mercenary leader remarked, and he lifted a hand to stroke Catti-brie's bruised cheek.

"Baenre approaches," the soldier behind the mercenary reminded, using the Drow tongue.

"Indeed," Jarlaxle replied absently, again in the surface language. He seemed wholly absorbed by this exotic beauty standing before him. "We must be on our way."

Catti-brie straightened, as though she expected the killing blow to fall. Jarlaxle reached up instead and removed the circlet from her head, in effect, blinding her. She offered no resistance as Taulmaril and her quiver were taken from her, and knew that it was Entreri's rough grasp that snapped the jeweled dagger from her belt sheath.

A strong but surprisingly gentle hand hooked her upper arm and led her away – away from the fallen Drizzt.

(216-218)

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The Chivalry of a Drow

Their inquiry of a map brought Lady Alustriel herself. Jarlaxle heard a knock at the door and answered it. When he opened the door, the Lady stood before him, in all her shining radiance.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Jarlaxle bowed to her and opened the door widely. "Certainly."

She inclined her head. "Thank you."

Her apparently sincere manners made Jarlaxle readjust to his views of the surface's culture. He held the door for her and looked back over his shoulder at Artemis. Artemis shrugged. Once the Lady entered, he closed the door behind her.

Artemis looked at her silently and crossed his arms over his chest.

She looked at the both of them with a smile of admiration. "You do clean up well, gentlemen."

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Jarlaxle asked.

"You are adventurers, correct?" Lady Alustriel asked in return, lacing her fingers together.

"That is correct," Artemis said. Jarlaxle noticed that his friend's demeanor was back to its dead, unrevealing tone and marveled at the act. The assassin proved once again to be a consummate performer. It was as if they had never embraced and admitted hard-won truths mere moments ago.

Jarlaxle felt the corners of his mouth lift in admiration at his friend's audacity. He turned his gaze to the Lady. "Do you have an offer you are willing to give us since we now have proven not to be criminals in your court?"

"It is of great, grave importance to me," Alustriel said, her expression serious. "I only offer because my steward informed me of the request for a map. That request indicates that you may be at a crossroads on your journey; I only ask for your consideration on the subject of my situation."

"What is your situation?" Jarlaxle asked with a raised eyebrow. He glanced at Artemis, feeling a prick of uneasiness at how close he might be to violating his newly renewed partnership.

"It can't hurt to ask," Artemis muttered.

Alustriel watched them closely. She proceeded with furrowed brow, as if her tongue were loosened only by their accordance with each other. "I have been placed in a difficult political situation. Officially, as part of the Silver Marches, my stance has been outvoted. The town of Nesmé applied for membership to the Silver Marches. They asked for help. I sponsored their plea; but I was outvoted by the other members, who fear that the town's problems may be too great. The leaders of the other cities are afraid that if they channel resources to Nesmé, their economies may suffer."

She spread her hands. "This leaves me only with the unofficial choice to support the people of Nesmé in any way I can until their problems have been overcome. Then, they may reapply to the Silver Marches and win the vote of the council."

Artemis said, "So, you are asking us to go to this town and fight…What?"

"I am asking all adventurers in these parts who are capable to fight," Alustriel said. "If these efforts on the part of myself and the adventurers fail, Nesme will be consumed by giants and become just another trace of human wreckage in the marsh."

Artemis' brow creased incredulously. "Giants?" He looked to Jarlaxle. "You are asking us to fight alongside townspeople against giants?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "If we wanted to. I am not sensing an obligation to do as she asks."

"No obligation." Alustriel shook her head firmly.

Jarlaxle continued, spreading his hands, "I see us as being on level ground now that this business of our innocence has been sorted out and she has reimbursed us for the damages. This would be a favor asked on her part. Therefore, it makes it our choice."

Artemis nodded. He scowled at the floor in thought.

"Let me make it easy for you," Jarlaxle said. "What are your objections?"

Artemis counted them on his fingers. "We don't know where this place is or how long it takes to get there. We don't know how long we will be stuck there fighting giants. We don't know where the giants are coming from or what they want from the town if they are willing to destroy it. In spite of the appeal of having something steady to fight every day, we ultimately won't know the solution to the problem if we stay within the town and wait for the giants to come to us."

Jarlaxle turned to the Lady of Silverymoon. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Well? What answers do you have to his concerns?"

She seemed to take this question very seriously. "I have some of the answers; I do not have others. As for the location of the town, it is west of here, in the Evermoors. However, traveling distance is of no concern. I have set up a portal to this location myself, from my home here in Silverymoon to the temple of Waukeen in Nesmé. Travel is instantaneous."

Artemis, to Jarlaxle's eye, looked relieved.

Alustriel continued, "As for the length of time this request requires, that is up to you. You are not obligated to stay until the threat is diminished. Many adventurers have come and gone in waves, to keep from being exhausted by the threat. The people of Nesmé understand that you are not their permanent protectors."

Artemis nodded curtly. "Then how do you explain where the giants are coming from and what they want?" Curtness meant he was on the verge of a decision, and Jarlaxle thought he could see which way Artemis was swinging.

Alustriel spread her hands. "They came because of the trolls. There used to be a great many trolls in the Evermoors. The giants came to clear them out and start a settlement of their own in the swamp. This just so happened to coincide with the human settlers that colonized Nesmé. To be fair, the human settlers began building before the giants came to the swamps, during the time when it was still necessary to fight trolls whenever they left the town walls. However, giants are apt to view their right to live where they will as nothing less than total domination over their surroundings."

"They are like humans or drow that way," Jarlaxle said, with a clever smirk.

Alustriel gave a little laugh and nodded. "Yes, indeed." She smiled back at him. "We civilized creatures all think we should retain the right to rule our lands absolutely."

"So that's it then," Artemis sighed. "We're going to Nesmé."

"Why, Artemis, are you sure?" Jarlaxle asked, looking at him with a mix of mock and real surprise.

Artemis nodded.

Alustriel became somber immediately. "In that case, I will give you additional supplies. You must be well prepared for the dangers that lie ahead." She gestured to the wooden box lying on the floor. "Have you equipped yourselves?"

Jarlaxle bowed. "Yes, my lady."

"Then follow me."

Artemis and Jarlaxle exchanged a glance, and then followed her out of the room.

"We must venture out into the cold, I'm afraid," Alustriel said. She smiled at them over her shoulder. "Though not far. The Star Court is only a few blocks from The High Palace."

"I have heard of this," Jarlaxle said, nodding. "Though I never dreamed I personally would get to see the interior of Bright Lady Tower."

"I hope you are not looking forward to it," Lady Alustriel said, nodding to a passing official as she talked. "I have moved, since I no longer hold the position High Mage."

"You don't?" Jarlaxle frowned in confusion. "But I could have sworn –"

She gave a little laugh that somehow put him at ease. "Do not worry. You were not mistaken. But in these past months, I have ceded my position of Taern Hornblade so that I may focus on the responsibilities of my leadership."

Jarlaxle felt himself go rather pale. "Taern…?"

"You met him," Alustriel agreed. "He was the gentleman that helped me with my official apology to your friend Artemis Entreri."

Artemis gave Jarlaxle an incredulous stare. "You finagled the High Mage of Silverymoon himself into apologizing to me?"

The Lady laughed. "It seems he values your friendship and well-being a great deal, Mister Entreri."

"No mister," Artemis said immediately. "It is just Entreri."

"Do titles make you uncomfortable?" she asked.

"Only ones I haven't earned."

She looked at him curiously. "Any man, in good standing with the law or not, deserves to be called mister. It is a matter of respect."

"Don't mind him," Jarlaxle said, clapping him on the back and grinning. "Around these parts, he's used to being called 'Vile Assassin'."

"Oh," Alustriel said. She inclined her head. "I see." She hid a smile behind her hand. "Does he prefer that, then?"

"Not notably," Artemis said.

Alustriel looked at him solemnly. "Ah. So it is just Entreri."

"Yes."

Jarlaxle noticed that the usually confident man looked uncomfortable in the presence of the powerful woman. He personally found her very charming.

"Then I shall call you Entreri," Alustriel said.

Artemis' expression twitched in a hint of a scowl, and he looked away. "Thank you."

They reached an ornate archway, through which were large wooden doors with glass windows set in them. Jarlaxle could see flurries of white passing by and not much else.

"It appears to be snowing," Alustriel said. "May I suggest that you use your new equipment to good use?"

Jarlaxle arranged things so his hat was securely tied to his back under his cloak and pulled up his hood. Artemis did the same, wrapping his cloak securely around himself.

Together, with the Lady leading the way, they stepped out onto the street.

In spite of the snow, the weather was really rather mild compared to the icy temperatures Jarlaxle and Artemis experienced when they first found themselves in the North. The snow was more like a toy than anything else. Jarlaxle batted it out of the air with his gloved hands and scooped it off windowsills as they walked, playing with it.

Artemis groaned and ignored him, but Alustriel watched the drow's antics with evident amusement, seemingly entertained by the drow's lightness of heart.

"It seems all drow enjoy the snow," Alustriel commented.

"What do you mean?" Jarlaxle asked, trying to pack his handful of snow into a ball. It wouldn't stick, being too powdery, but he had fun trying. Who could believe that this strange material was made out of frozen water? Still, his spies told him it was so.

Alustriel smiled softly. "When I first met Drizzt Do'Urden, he too had a childlike fascination with the snow. As well as other rogue drow I have met on the surface in my time, you and he seem to share that same interest."

"Other rogue drow?" Jarlaxle asked. He turned to throw his handful of snow in Artemis' face, but one glance at the assassin's face convinced him otherwise. He let it harmlessly drop to the ground, giving Entreri an innocent smile.

"I have had occasion to meet other rogue drow," Alustriel said, sounding slightly surprised. "They are by no means few, with the many tunnels surrounding this land leading from the Underdark. Drow are migrating from the depths of the earth in great numbers."

Jarlaxle feigned ignorance. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"They mostly keep their location secret," Alustriel said. "They are afraid, in part, of what the surface elves will do to them if they are discovered." She shook her head sadly. "The others are still living the way they did before, raping and pillaging rather than attempting to start a new life here."

The drow mercenary was impressed with her knowledge. She really did keep tabs on what was happening around her. Most matron mothers he knew would be so focused on their little city that they wouldn't see anything else. He was coming to the conclusion that she actually cared, the way he cared what happened to members of his organization. She would be a terrible person to cross.

Jarlaxle smiled to himself. But a great ally. Yes, indeed, it was fortunate Artemis had decided to help her. If he could count her among his allies on the surface, the magnitude of what he would be able to accomplish here would be almost limitless. No wonder Drizzt kept her so close.

In this part of the city, the streets were beautiful, festooned even in the snow with plants. He recognized the many pointed leaves and bright red berries as holly, and the furry looking trees as pines. There were decorations in many of the trees along the lanes. Some were brightly painted wooden shapes, others were glass, and still others were simply ribbons tied around outstretched branches. It was oddly festive.

Jarlaxle finally pointed one of the trees out. "What is the meaning of those objects in the trees, my lady?"

Alustriel smiled at him. "Those are a local tradition in Silverymoon. Soon, it will be Winterfest, a northern holiday celebrating the end of the year. The decorations are put in the trees by adults and children alike to show holiday spirit."

"It is beautiful," Jarlaxle said.

They walked along for a minute. Between two buildings stood another copse of pine trees, one of them so close he could reach out and touch it from the sidewalk.

He paused and bit his lip. He didn't want to push it, but. "My lady?"

She stopped and turned around to look at him. "Yes, Jarlaxle?"

Jarlaxle beamed and tapped his index fingers together. "Would I be allowed to put a decoration on one of these trees? I do so enjoy participating in local customs, and this seems to be a particularly charming pastime for the winter."

Alustriel laughed. "Of course. Anyone may put a decoration on the tree if they so desire."

Jarlaxle clapped his hands together. "Thank you, my lady. I do appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart." He bowed to her deeply. "Might you have such a decoration?"

She laughed again. "I think I can manage something." She reached into her pocket and took out a round brass bell on a red string. "Here. You can tie this to the tree."

Jarlaxle straightened and took it from her with both hands. "My fondest thanks," he murmured. He reverently went to the pine tree and tied the little bell to one of its outstretched branches. When he was done, he stepped back and gazed at the tree for a full thirty seconds.

Artemis watched this turn of events with patent disbelief.

Jarlaxle put his hand over his heart and sighed. "This beauteous tree fills me with feelings of joy and holiday cheer I have never experienced before, my lady. I feel at peace with the world. Truly, I could live beneath this tree, singing songs of my love and respect for nature every hour, content in the knowledge that my soul is at peace. I would wreathe myself in –"

Artemis audibly ground his teeth together. "Jarlaxle."

Jarlaxle looked at him with an angelic smile. "Yes, old friend?"

"Shut up."

"If my words displeased you, you have but to –"

"Shut. Up."

"Yes, of course."

Alustriel watched them with bright eyes, hand in front of her mouth. She appeared to be shaking with silent laughter. At last, she could hold it in no longer, and it was the most beautiful sound Jarlaxle had ever heard. "You remind me of a certain old man I know," she said to Artemis, eyes twinkling.

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "Would he be a terrible curmudgeon?"

"Oh my, yes," she said, shaking her head and laughing. "He is probably the most grumpy man in Faerǔn."

Alustriel and Jarlaxle now walked side by side, talking and laughing, while Artemis followed them with his arms crossed, scowling. They probably had a lot in common, both being centuries old and powerful and accustomed to leading large numbers of people at one time, but he knew for a fact that Jarlaxle was just getting close to her because she was a beautiful woman, and Jarlaxle was and always would be a hound.

He smirked to himself. _Just you wait until he tries to slip a hand up her robes, and then see how friendly she is. _

As they neared their destination, one structure towered above the rest. Jarlaxle let out a low whistle, and Artemis couldn't help but agree. Even in this part of the city where fine buildings abounded, this one stood above the rest. It was a castle of white marble, graceful and solemnly girded with unicorn busts on its crenellated battlements. There were four spires, arranged in a triangular formation so that two stood behind and one stood in front of a central tower.

"We are going to that tower in the center of the palace," Alustriel said with a smile. "My new rooms have been constructed there."

"And when we reach those rooms, what will we do?" Jarlaxle asked.

"As I have said, there will be a portal there to transport you instantly to Nesmé."

Artemis Entreri groaned. Was he the only one who ever caught on to Jarlaxle's innuendo?

When they arrived at the front gates of the High Palace, Artemis and Jarlaxle saw guards in gleaming silver armor on either side, protecting it. These were some of the same soldiers that had hauled them away with little explanation only a week ago. Artemis caught Jarlaxle's eye and saw that he, too, was bristling at the presence of these men. If circumstances had been different, Artemis felt sure they would have a fight on their hands. Neither of them took being strong-armed well.

Alustriel reached out and placed one delicate hand on Jarlaxle's arm. "Be at ease, my friend. These men have no quarrel against you. They were only following my orders; as foolish as they have been, your ire should be directed at me."

"I could never hold ire against such a beautiful lady," Jarlaxle murmured.

Artemis felt a prick of impatient irritation at such a lie.

The gates were opened for them without comment by the silver-clad guards, and they made their way through the courtyard to the central tower. They passed through a gate on the west, all while receiving explanation from the Lady of Silverymoon. Or, rather, Jarlaxle received a guided tour, because Artemis wasn't interested in the least. "This tower is called Moonshield," Lady Alustriel said. "We have passed through the Unicorn Gate, and up these stairs lies the Hall of Greeting."

"My, what an impressive array of names," Jarlaxle said, walking beside her. "Do these stairs have a name, too?"

"We are on the Silver Stair."

"I see."

Artemis was more than ready to kill some giants or die trying by the time they reached the top of the grandly spiraling stairs.

That was not to be. Instead, they met with the steward and his staff, who all paid their lengthy respects to the Lady, and then spent what felt like another hour greeting the 'Lady's guests'. Finally, the steward began walking, guiding them on for the visitors' sake. They were led east through an immense door into the Great Hall.

As they passed, on either side were doors leading to various other places. Audience chambers they might have been directed to had they not been labeled as criminals, a banquet hall the size of a small town, and rooms devoted to the Council of the Marches.

Finally, they reached the other side. By that time, Artemis was fairly nauseated by the finery. Hanging plants were everywhere, as well as tapestries, life sized marble statues of unicorns, and white relief murals carved into the walls depicting forest scenes. It was a Northern, opulent nightmare. So, of course, Jarlaxle loved it, and said so repeatedly.

Two arches at its prow-shaped eastern end led to the two ruling throne rooms. The steward took great care to imply that the Silver Throne, dedicated to the High lady of the Silver Marches, was superior in every way. They entered Alustriel's throne room and passed through it to a private door. The steward held it open for the Lady, bowing deeply. "Here are your rooms, my lady. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Thank you, Martin," Lady Alustriel replied with a smile. "I am sure I will as every other day."

As soon as they stepped through the door into her private wing and left the rest of the castle behind, the opulence receded to levels the assassin could handle. He thought that curious, and definitely a sign that she and Jarlaxle were not made for each other. If Jarlaxle were in charge of the decorating, this wing would be a circus of different knick knacks, each one more hideous than the last.

"I appreciate the time you have spent out of your busy day to show us the palace," Jarlaxle said. "I only wish that I could repay the kindness."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Perhaps one day when you have a palace of your own, I may come to visit, and you can do the same for me."

Jarlaxle bowed. "It is a date set."

_If he doesn't just steal yours,_ Artemis thought. He didn't know what Jarlaxle was planning at this point. Given his friend's degree of fascination with the North, they were going to be here a very long time. He supposed that it was true that unlike in Calimshan, there were places here waiting to be settled by daring adventurers. The southern lands were old and well settled to the point where it would be very difficult for a drow to find a place for himself.

He frowned as they walked down the hallway. Of course, it was also true that they had tried and failed. He didn't like to think about that, so he pushed it out of his mind. Failure was not an acceptable subject for thought.

A chamber maid passed them, carrying a bucket in one hand and a feather duster in the other. She curtsied to them, and Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her in return. Artemis simply ignored her after studying her for a moment. She was healthy and calm, though demure. It seemed Alustriel treated her servants well.

Artemis was trying to untangle the mystery behind the inscrutable mage. She was one of Mystra's Chosen, and one of the Seven Sisters, and had close ties to Elminster, the infamous graybeard he detested as he detested any long-lived, powerful mage. He had no desire to cross the Lady of Silverymoon, but being so close to someone who held that much power in their blood made him uncomfortable. It made sense to him that Jarlaxle would want to woo her, but he also wondered at how Jarlaxle could so easily dismiss a lifetime of bowing to powerful females. Jarlaxle, laughing and talking beside her, seemed perfectly at ease. He didn't know whether it was an act, or somehow the drow mercenary felt drawn to her. He only knew that he himself was confused. He had assumed because of her relationship to Drizzt Do'Urden that they would be put to death, no matter what anyone said about a trial. This feeling of inevitability surpassed mere hate. And now that he was standing practically beside her, now working for her, he didn't know what to feel. Yet again fate had landed him on the same side as Drizzt Do'Urden, and the drow ranger had refused to acknowledge that fact. The dismissal was familiar, of course. The last time they met in the crystal tower Drizzt had placed him in no uncertain terms in the position of a figure of contempt.

He wondered suddenly, an act that shook his entire frame of reference, if Drizzt remembered him trying to stem the drow's blood as the ranger lay dying. Artemis remembered the turmoil of emotions that had coursed through him at that time. It was like picking through a jumble of foreign material. He hadn't wanted Drizzt to die. But his reasons seemed confused. There was pain at being denied death, but there was also this sense of wrongdoing, as if he had done a horrible thing. As if he had slain someone he cared about.

Artemis shook his head violently. But he didn't. And he hadn't, he reminded himself. Drizzt was still alive the whole time. Jarlaxle brought him back to life. But the feeling of uncleanliness remained, a thing that stained his skin, tainted him. That's why he hated Jarlaxle so much in those moments. He and Jarlaxle had destroyed something magnificent, something better than Entreri. And Jarlaxle had the gall to laugh about it. Of course, if he had known it was only a trick – but he hadn't.

The assassin realized he was still upset, even after almost a year, and tried to set the feelings aside. They didn't mean anything. It was the past. Over and done with.

But seeing Drizzt again, looking at him with contempt, opened the past up again.

Artemis Entreri would be glad he was leaving for Nesmé, if he didn't feel such a coward for the relief.

They reached Alustriel's personal suite. The first room was a private dining room, with a large rectangular dining table set with a richly embroidered runner and gold candelabras. Ornate chairs with plush seats surrounded it, four on each side and one on either end. They passed by a library, and a bath, and headed into her bed chamber. Jarlaxle looked a little overawed to be seeing such a powerful ruler's intimate space. There was a four poster bed in the middle of the room with rugs on both sides, but other than that, the only large piece of furniture in the room was an old wardrobe. Its dark wood was richly carved, and it stood a good eight feet tall.

Alustriel went to the chest at the foot of the bed. She touched her hand to it. There was a flash of blue light, and a click. She opened the chest and withdrew a traveler's pack. She closed the chest and handed Jarlaxle the pack. "This is additional equipment I feel you may need. I give this to all adventurers who volunteer to help with the Nesmé crisis."

"What's in here?" Jarlaxle asked.

"There are things too numerous to mention," Alustriel said, "but a few key items include your payment for agreeing to the task, vials of a potion that grant giant strength for a short period of time, and fire scrolls."

"I don't see any portal," Artemis said.

Alustriel smiled and walked over to the wardrobe. She placed her hand on it.

"It's in there?" Artemis asked incredulously.

"It is," Alustriel said. "Once I say the command word the doors will open, and it will become visible to you."

"That wardrobe is a handy thing to have," Jarlaxle said. He looked at her admiringly. "It conveniently conceals your portal without arousing suspicion."

"I move the portal's location every sixteen days or so," she said with a laugh. "I doubt anyone will discover it without my guidance."

"Where does it lead?" Artemis asked.

"The temple of Waukeen in Nesme," Alustriel said. "The temple is ruined now, but it was the most suitable landmark of choice. There is always someone stationed outside the temple ruins to greet the adventurers who come."

"A temple?" Artemis scowled.

"It is a small one," Alustriel said. "You will not get lost once you enter the temple. It is the same size as a barn, no more."

Jarlaxle bowed to her. "Thank you, for all of your help."

"I should say that to you," Alustriel said.

"You are too kind."

Artemis was tempted to say something rude. "Can we go now?"

"Of course," Alustriel said. She shook his hand, and then extended a hand to Jarlaxle.

The drow smiled coyly. "No kiss for good luck?"

Alustriel laughed. "I am afraid not." She shook his hand. "Good luck."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to her. "My lady." While he talked, she unlocked the wardrobe with her command word and opened the door. Instead of the interior of the wardrobe, there was only darkness. "Though it has been but one day, already I feel as though a great blessing has been bestowed upon –"

Artemis grabbed his cloak and yanked him through the portal before he could finish. Jarlaxle let out a cry of mingled surprise and indignation before he disappeared. Artemis looked back, one foot in the wardrobe, and told Lady Alustriel over his shoulder, "You didn't want to listen to that anyway. Trust me." Then he went through, and watched the bedroom fade away into darkness.

He found himself, quite painlessly, in a room constructed of gray stone blocks. Light came in from a hole in the ceiling, and Jarlaxle paced, arms crossed, on the other side of the room.

"You interrupted my speech!" Jarlaxle said, looking at him reproachfully.

Artemis checked the weapons at his belt, making sure they were secure. Then he glanced up at his companion. "No one wants to hear you wax eloquent." Just to tease the drow further, he added, "I was doing the lady a favor."

Jarlaxle sniffed. "She was delighted to have my company. Probably, she was starved for some real companionship after being so long in the presence of her friend, Drizzt. Whining children grow tiresome to adults like her and myself."

Artemis groaned. "Don't tell me you want to seduce her and take her palace."

Jarlaxle grinned. "Why not? Would that not be a prestigious coup to accomplish?" He waved dismissively. "Ah, but no, Artemis, as a matter of fact, I had no plans to those ends." Smiling and glib, the drow mercenary was hardly convincing.

"Well, the first step in is to come back to her bed a hero after defeating the monsters of Nesmé," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle grinned. "Then I shall have my own epic tale to perform for the Lady." He placed one hand on his chest in the manner of a bard preparing for locution and raised the other in a dramatic pose. "The Adventures of Jarlaxle Bregan D'aerthe and His Daring Companion, Sir Entreri of Calimport!"

"It sounds awful," Entreri said, deadpan. "What fool could you find to sing it?"

"Oh, the taverns will be crawling with bards waiting to take on the cause. They'll be clamoring over themselves for my attention," the drow said.

"Just as one day, you will no longer be heralded as an untrustworthy outcast, but as a hero?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle threw his hands up in an ecstatic gesture. "Exactly!"

Artemis shook his head. "Let's go. Let's not keep our guide waiting."

Jarlaxle linked his arm through the assassin's, and for once Artemis felt only a mild urge to punch the mercenary in the face. "Yes, let us be off!"

Off on another adventure that would probably end badly, Artemis thought.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11: Foreign Magic

Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

"I do not like her," came the high-pitched, excited voice of Dwahvel Tiggerwillies. The halfling shuffled over to take Sharlotta's vacated seat at Entreri's table.

"Is it her height and beauty that so offend you?" Entreri sarcastically replied.

Dwahvel shot him a perfectly incredulous look. "Her dishonesty," the halfling explained.

That answer raised Entreri's eyebrow. Wasn't everyone on the streets of Calimport, Entreri and Dwahvel included, basically a manipulator? If a claim of dishonesty was a reason not to like someone in Calimport, then the judgmental person would find herself quite alone.

"There is a difference," Dwahvel explained, intercepting a nearby waiter with a wave of her hand and taking a drink from his laden tray.

"So it comes back to that height and beauty problem, then," Entreri chided with a smile.

His own words did indeed amuse him, but what caught his fancy even more was the realization that he could, and often did, talk to Dwahvel in such a manner. In all of his life, Artemis Entreri had known very few people with whom he could have a casual conversation, but he found himself so at ease with Dwahvel that he had even considered hiring a wizard to determine if she was using some charming magic on him. In fact, then and there, Entreri clenched his gloved fist, concentrating briefly on the item to see if he could determine any magical emanations coming from Dwahvel, aimed at him.

There was nothing, only honest friendship, which to Artemis Entreri was a magic more foreign indeed.

(141)

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Foreign Magic

The impression Jarlaxle had gotten from Lady Alustriel was that Nesmé was a small town. It was perhaps small compared to Silverymoon, that much he would allow, but it was hardly the dirty, defenseless town he expected. When he and Artemis emerged from the temple of Waukeen, he saw himself in a partially devastated fortress town. The air hung smoky over the fortress. It smelled of coal and metal, mingled with swamp gas. Jarlaxle could not deny that they were now in the Evermoors. Nesmé was crowded with two story stone buildings, some of them tumbling down, revealing the interior through gaping holes. Others stood in good repair. Jarlaxle estimated that perhaps a fifth of the buildings he saw were ruined, and wondered if that was a fair reflection of how many people had died in the giant raids so far. The buildings that stood were there because they were important enough to be repaired or defended.

A grizzled man supporting his weight on a crutch watched them silently for a few minutes before speaking up. "It's not pretty, is it?"

"I wasn't expecting much," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle bowed to him, briefly sweeping off his hat. "We are here to help."

The man spat a glob of chewing tobacco on the ground. "I know. Ye came from the temple."

"I am Jarlaxle, and this is Entreri," Jarlaxle said. He held out a hand.

The man didn't take it. "Seldon. I'm here because I got put out of action the last time the giants came through. Otherwise," he spat again, "I'd be up there, helping." He pointed,.

Jarlaxle saw people on the ramparts, high above their heads. He also saw some catapults. Now that his attention had been drawn to it, he saw the wall itself. A patchy, poorly repaired stone wall almost ten feet thick. And yet, that didn't stop the giants. He frowned.

"Is that where we need to be?" Artemis asked.

"Ye need to be brought to Tess Alaurun," the grizzled man retorted.

Jarlaxle bowed. "Then lead the way." He didn't question who Alaurun was. He assumed she was some kind of soldier or city official who would coordinate them with the rest of the adventurers.

Seldon led them down the street, and it seemed they were headed for the other end of the fortress. They passed several taverns and smithies, a few equipment shops, and only a couple other businesses. Jarlaxle could see other, unmarked buildings around them, removed from the main street. Probably personal residences. The feeling in the air was oppressive.

They came to an open area delineated by buildings on three sides, almost a kind of town square except for the fact that it was too small a space. A woman in somber slate robes stood in front of some soldiers, talking at them. She was the only woman present, and Seldon stopped for a moment before intruding on the scene, so Jarlaxle concluded that she was Tess Alaurun.

Artemis was close behind him, not saying a word.

When the woman in robes stopped speaking, Seldon hobbled up to her. He spoke something Jarlaxle couldn't hear. The woman looked at them, and the grizzled man gestured them over.

Jarlaxle cautiously approached. Artemis followed.

"First Speaker Alaurun," Seldon announced. "These are two more adventurers from Silverymoon. Their names are Jarlaxle and Entreri."

Jarlaxle bowed to her, and Artemis followed suit. Jarlaxle straightened, wondering if he would actually manage to get away without anyone mentioning his race. So far, Seldon hadn't murmured a word.

Alaurun, a tired brunette reaching forty years of age soon, pressed her hands together solemnly. "Thank you for coming. I don't have any restful accommodations to give you. All I have are some empty buildings. The furniture still remains. The owners are dead."

Jarlaxle was surprised and a little impressed. She spoke without any pretense whatsoever. Obviously, being the leader of this town was wearing down on her, but she set it aside with a stoicism he'd only encountered in human men so far. "We did not come for the accommodations," he said softly.

"You can have a building on the west side. 314. Thurlin can help if you need anything. Bedsheets, candles, lamps or furniture."

Jarlaxle gave her a short bow. "Who is Thurlin?"

"He is a half elf about your height, brown hair, dressed usually in a green or blue tunic," she said. "He should be around. I have him handling the adventurers."

She pointed down the street. "His building is not far from here. He was a tailor."

"Was?" Artemis asked.

"Now he is a soldier," Alaurun said. "Like anyone else." She returned to the soldiers, obviously done speaking with them.

"Need me?" Seldon grunted.

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the grizzled man. "No, thank you. We can find our own way now."

"I gotta get back to the temple," Seldon said, limping down the street the way they'd come.

"Cheerful place," Artemis said. He walked by Jarlaxle's side down the way Alaurun had pointed them.

"It should be right up your alley," Jarlaxle said. "Depressing, grim, and blunt."

Entreri smirked. "You are going to hate it here."

Jarlaxle smiled at him cheerfully. "I'll manage. With a few minor changes…"

Artemis groaned. "You're going to take this town out from under her and mold it in your own ridiculous image, aren't you?"

Jarlaxle steepled his fingers. "Perhaps. It could use a bit of color, couldn't it?"

Artemis rolled his eyes, imagining Jarlaxle painting the walls purple and orange. "After you defeat the giants, they'll have no choice but to obey you. Is that it?"

"Something like that." Jarlaxle laughed.

On their left, a square stone building was distinguished by a large wooden sign with the words 'Thurlin's Fine Garments' in gold paint. Jarlaxle looked to Artemis. Artemis shrugged. Jarlaxle shrugged in response and pushed open the door. It wasn't that the building was in disrepair or anything. It just felt odd somehow.

Jarlaxle realized a moment later he felt uncomfortable because he still expected the townspeople to yell 'drow!' and light their torches. He chuckled to himself.

Artemis raised an eyebrow.

Jarlaxle just grinned at him.

"You're letting the cold air in."

Jarlaxle turned quickly and Artemis shut the door. The speaker was a half-elf matching the First Speaker's description of Thurlin. He was dressed in a blue tunic, shoulder length brown hair tucked behind one ear. There was no business front, as Jarlaxle might have expected. Instead, they'd walked directly into a workshop. The half-elf was by a dressmaker's model, a tape measure in one hand and a pencil behind his ear.

Jarlaxle bowed to him. "My apologies, sir…"

"Mister," the half-elf said. "Mister Thurlin…" He trailed off, looking at Jarlaxle strangely.

Ah, Jarlaxle thought. Here it comes.

Thurlin hesitated, then pointed to him. He opened his mouth, but no words would come out at first.

Jarlaxle leaned forward expectantly. "Yes?"

"Why are you wearing that hat?"

Jarlaxle's jaw dropped. "What?"

Artemis let out a chuckle in surprise.

Thurlin gestured with both hands. "Why are you dressed like that? It's horrible."

Artemis' grin stretched from ear to ear. He looked at Jarlaxle wickedly. "Well? What do you have to say to the man?"

Jarlaxle straightened to his full height and straightened his coat and vest. "What I'll say is that I like how I am dressed."

"How can you?" Thurlin asked. "It's color blind."

Entreri chuckled again.

Jarlaxle was beginning to be a little annoyed. "I am not here for fashion advice. I am here to fight giants."

"Vermillion and turquoise is all wrong," Thurlin insisted.

"It's called creativity," Jarlaxle hissed.

Thurlin passed his hand over his eyes.

The exasperated gesture only increased Jarlaxle's self-righteous wounding. "It is color. I am wearing color. What have you got to say about him?" Jarlaxle pointed at Entreri.

Thurlin glanced at the assassin. "Black, brown, and gray are all neutrals. At the very least he grasps things that go together."

"I like him," Artemis said to Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle glared at the assassin.

"We are here because we need you to show us to 314," Jarlaxle said to Thurlin. He crossed his arms. "That is the building your leader said we were allowed to stay in, and I would like to unpack before risking my life for you and your village."

"I highly recommend commissioning a change of clothing before the week is through," Thurlin said. He turned his back to Jarlaxle's outraged expression and walked across the room to a cabinet. "You'll need a key. All the vacant houses are locked to prevent intrusion. I have all the keys to the housing." He picked out a bronze key and came over to them. "If you gentlemen will follow me."

"Oh," Artemis commented with a smirk at Jarlaxle, "we're not gentlemen."

"That was just a formality," Thurlin said, giving him a coolly annoyed look. He grabbed his cloak off a peg near the door and went out into the cold with them.

They walked down another street and a half before stopping at another ubiquitous stone building. The tailor unlocked the front door and looked around. "Serviceable but dusty." He turned to Jarlaxle with a smile. "Oh, and very chill. You should start a fire in the fireplace upstairs right away to warm this place up." He deposited the key in Jarlaxle's palm. "Good day, gentlemen." He turned and walked back down the street.

"I think he has something against me because he is threatened by my genius," Jarlaxle declared.

"I think your clashing outfit gave him a headache," Artemis said, grinning.

"His headache is due to his tiny skull being cracked open by his enlarged horizons," Jarlaxle said. He sniffed loftily. "He simply couldn't handle my originality."

"I can second that," Entreri said.

Jarlaxle threw an arm around his shoulders. "Finally, you agree with me."

"I meant that your brand of originality is hard for anyone to stomach."

Jarlaxle laughed.

Inside, it was indeed as cold as it was outside. Jarlaxle kept the door open while Artemis went around the spacious room opening the shutters to let some light in. The downstairs was all really one room. There was a sitting room, a dining room, and a kitchen, all divided by partial walls. The house opened up on the dining room. Jarlaxle came inside and shut the door after Artemis finished his round.

"This should do nicely," Jarlaxle said. He looked around with a smile. There was a table with a few chairs in the dining room, a couple of chairs, a low table, and a rug in the sitting room, and the kitchen looked as though it was stocked with enough cookware to get by on.

Artemis looked at him with a strange expression.

"Don't you think?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis shrugged. "I don't know what you are thinking. We are only going to be here for as long as it takes to kill the giants."

The staircase was around the corner in the kitchen, and he started walking up the stairs without consulting the mercenary further.

Jarlaxle followed. It was a little dark, but that didn't bother him. Artemis saw an oil lamp in a sconce and lit it, illuminating the stairwell.

At the top of the stairs was one open room. There were three beds in all. One was a child's bed, pushed all the way over to one end of the space, and two were in the same part of the room, adult sized. It painted a vague picture of family life. A mother, a father, and their offspring.

Jarlaxle looked puzzled. "Where is the bathroom?"

"They probably don't have one," Artemis said.

"What do you mean?"

Artemis sighed. "I mean it is like an inn or a tavern."

"Most of the places we go to have bathrooms," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis glared at him. "In the south."

Jarlaxle tilted his head. "The north has no bathrooms?"

"Mostly, no," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle grimaced. "I was not counting on this."

Artemis smirked. "Feeling the urge to migrate to warmer weather?"

Jarlaxle glared at him. "Not yet. I have plans for this place. And when I fulfill them, I will build bathrooms."

Artemis pointed at a chamber pot in the corner. "For now, that is the bathroom."

"Permanently?" Jarlaxle winced. "Where does the waste go when one is done with it?"

Artemis smirked. "Out the window." He jerked a thumb at the bedroom window behind him casually. "I told you the north was barbaric. The south has had indoor plumbing for years."

"Why is it taking so long for the news to travel?" Jarlaxle whined.

"Northerners have a choice between intelligence and pride, and they pick pride," Artemis said. "They don't believe in hygiene. Most of them still believe that sitting in a sauna and then rolling out in the snow will cure colds."

Jarlaxle smacked his forehead. "How can anyone believe that making yourself hot and then rapidly making yourself cold can have a positive effect on illness?"

Artemis shrugged.

They deposited their travel packs on the two adult beds, and Artemis started a fire in the fireplace.

Jarlaxle looked at the child's bed contemplatively. "I suppose I will tell Thurlin I want to remove it."

"Why?" Artemis asked. He raised an eyebrow. "Not planning on raising children in this place, settling down with some woman?"

Jarlaxle glanced at him and saw that despite the mocking tone, the assassin was curious. Jarlaxle shrugged. "No use keeping old furniture. It will only take up space."

"What will you put there instead?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle felt vaguely threatened by this line of questioning. "Perhaps we can wait to discuss interior decorating. I would like to open this bag and see what Alustriel has packed for us."

Artemis gathered around, sitting on the bed. Jarlaxle stayed standing over the footboard and unbuckled the front flap of the bag. He flipped it open. At first glance, there was a coin purse, rows of potions and rolled up pieces of parchment.

Jarlaxle rubbed his hands together. "There is our payment, of course." He attached the coin purse to his belt. Artemis didn't protest. "This looks good. What have we here?" He lifted out the potions one by one, looking at the liquid inside the bulbous glass vial before setting it on the bed in front of Artemis. There were different colors. Three were filled with a thin liquid colored bright magenta. Four held thick, glossy white liquid. The four last ones were filled with something fiery orange.

Artemis examined them as well. "No labels."

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip with an index finger. "Why are there only three of these pink ones?"

Artemis shrugged. "Maybe she miscounted." At Jarlaxle's look, he said, "Even a high mage can make mistakes. Or have you forgotten she'd thrown us in prison without any evidence?"

"I have not forgotten," Jarlaxle said mildly. "I simply do not think it is important."

Artemis looked at him with disbelief. He made a visible effort not to answer that. "What else is in the bag?"

Jarlaxle pulled out the rolled up pieces of parchment. Each one was neatly tied with a string. Three were white, four were red, four were green, and the last four were yellow. "Scrolls, I hope."

Artemis nodded. "Color coded for description. White for healing, red for fire, green for nature, yellow for lightning."

"If she used the most common meanings," Jarlaxle said.

"Why wouldn't she?" Artemis asked.

"I don't know," Jarlaxle said. "But I suggest we look, just in case. Let us open one of each color in the hopes that it will shed some light on what the colors mean."

Artemis opened a white scroll and a yellow scroll. Jarlaxle opened the red and the green. The assassin held up the white scroll. "Protection." Then he held up the yellow scroll. "Lightning."

Jarlaxle nodded and held up the green scroll. "Vines." Then he held up the red. "Fire."

"So it is standard," Artemis said. He retied the scrolls, and Jarlaxle did the same. "Is there anything else in there?"

Jarlaxle started to shake his head, but he caught sight of a hidden flap on the bottom of the bag, suggesting another compartment. He felt under the flap and found a button snap. He pulled it open and reached inside. The mercenary frowned. It was some kind of soft, thick cloth. He found a drawstring attached, and pulled out a black felt bag.

"What is that?" Artemis asked.

"I don't know," Jarlaxle said. He had to admit, he was surprised and curious. He opened the bag and looked inside. Then he drew out a red leather eye patch, a small purple crystal, and a note, written on a scrap of parchment.

Jarlaxle checked the piece of parchment front and back, then read the message. It just said,_ I felt the need to apologize to you, too. _The handwriting was elegant, swirling cursive, complicated and completely legible. Somehow he knew he was looking at Alustriel's personal handwriting. "I don't understand," he murmured. "When did she have time?"

Artemis said, "Now you know how it feels to be completely outclassed by someone, the way you always delight in doing to others."

Jarlaxle examined the eye patch. "But it looks exactly alike…"

"One has to wonder how much she knows about us," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle frowned. "And the crystal…"

"What kind of crystal is that?" the assassin asked.

"A psionic crystal," Jarlaxle said. "One I might use to contact Kimmuriel."

"It seems she has you figured out," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle gave him a weak smile.

"Not a good feeling, is it?" Artemis folded his arms behind his head, the most casual thing Jarlaxle had seen him do in a while.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely."

Jarlaxle weighed the items in his hands. "I don't know whether or not to use them."

"Why not?" Artemis asked. "I thought she seemed trustworthy to you."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "It isn't that I don't trust her."

The fire was starting to make a difference in the room. It was noticeably warmer than it had been. Still, they didn't remove their outer clothing.

"Then what is it?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle hesitated. They'd just gone over the issue of trust less than an hour ago. He supposed he should try to open up about how he felt, if only to see how the assassin would respond. Technically, Artemis had never betrayed him once. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with that, somehow. "I'm not sure I am ready to face Kimmuriel."

"Then hold onto those things until you do feel ready," Artemis said. "I won't encourage you to hurry." He scowled. "The more time I have to myself, the better."

Jarlaxle smiled. "It is the disrespect he has always shown you, isn't it?"

Artemis shook his head. "It's more than that."

Jarlaxle asked, "What else?"

It was Artemis' turn to hesitate. "There isn't a feeling being beyond his exterior."

Jarlaxle laughed. "No?"

Artemis shook his head.

Jarlaxle put all the potions and scrolls back in the bag and tossed it off the side of the bed so he could sit beside Artemis. "Did not our last confrontation make you notice a feeling interior?"

Artemis frowned.

Jarlaxle put a hand on his arm. "He is really very weak, Kimmuriel Oblodra. There is nothing to be afraid of."

Artemis stared at him. "Weak?"

"His powers are strong," Jarlaxle allowed, "but powers do not make the man. His emotions are weak. He hides them because they are easy to take advantage of. He really is the weakest of his family. It is a pity – or perhaps it is fortunate – that he is the only one that survived his House's downfall."

"You were responsible for that," Artemis said.

"The downfall of House Oblodra?" Jarlaxle chuckled. "No. But I did save Kimmuriel, when I could have left him behind. He was too useful – and he was the easiest one to control." He wove his fingers together and braced them backwards, stretching his arms. "If it were not for the crystal shard and the priest Rai-guy, Kimmuriel would never have planned to overthrow me as leader of Bregan D'aerthe."

"Are you not worried about how he is faring in your absence?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "He is competent. Besides, I have already stated I will punish him if I find he has let Bregan D'aerthe go to seed."

Artemis narrowed his eyes at the drow mercenary. "You don't care one way or another."

"Why should I?" Jarlaxle asked. "I've left it behind." He gave Artemis a quick smile, as if they shared something private. "In search of better things."

Artemis looked confused and a little uncomfortable.

"Would you like to get something to eat?" Jarlaxle asked, changing the subject. He put a hand on his stomach. "I am famished after that terrible food in Silverymoon."

"Funny," Artemis said. "After I ate that, I lost my appetite."

"You actually ate it?" Jarlaxle asked. "I'm surprised you're still alive."

Artemis smirked. "I have spent years building up a resistance to rotten food."

Jarlaxle flung an arm around his shoulders. "Then allow me to treat you to the finest this city has to offer."

Artemis didn't even flinch at the sudden contact. "I accept."

* * *

They found a tavern a street over from their lodging. From the look of it, there were a lot of taverns in Nesmé. All of them had battered wooden signs out front with the name of the establishment on one side and a painting of a beer mug on the other. Entreri was surprised by the fact that there were still travelers moving through this town. It didn't seem like the behavior of a town on the brink of destruction.

With taverns to choose from, Jarlaxle nudged his arm and pointed at a sign that said 'The Lucky Clover'. Artemis honestly didn't care where they went, so he nodded and followed Jarlaxle inside. It was noisy, poorly lit, and crowded. For once, no one seemed to notice them or care who they were. Jarlaxle actually had to elbow his way through the crowd and force people to push their chairs in a little.

Still, there was one table unoccupied in the corner, wedged between a window and the corner of the bar. It only had two chairs around it. Artemis would have disliked the coincidence more if he hadn't noticed that everyone in the tavern seemed to know each other and were gathered in big groups around every table. A table with two chairs simply didn't interest the other customers.

Jarlaxle stole the corner by the window, so Artemis resigned himself to being constantly bumped into by men weaving to the bar. The overcast light from outside also shone in his eyes at this time of day. Typical Jarlaxle. The drow was generous but not generous. At least talking would be too difficult to maintain in this atmosphere. He didn't feel like it.

Nothing felt real to him. It was all happening too fast. They'd been running from Tandy, and then Jarlaxle ran from him, he caught up to Jarlaxle only to be attacked by a dragon. As soon as they lived through that, Drizzt threw them in jail with Alustriel's questionable help. Then they went through a trial like a meat grinder and were declared innocent. Alustriel tried to return some humanity to them, and then had asked them to go fight giants. And now they were magically transported miles away to a swamp town on the verge of collapse. And he was sitting in a tavern with Jarlaxle. As if nothing monumental had happened to them since the destruction of the crystal shard. Life seemed to undo itself all the time, reversing peoples' fortunes at random but not really solving anything.

If he could accept it, there was a simple explanation for how he felt. He drove himself to exhaustion finding Jarlaxle, was injured, and then was not allowed to rest properly. He was tired. He was thirsty. He was hungry. It was normal in those circumstances to feel his head spinning.

But in Jarlaxle's company, he felt himself refusing simple explanations. The drow seemed to encourage introspection and brooding in him. He was bombarded with questions all the time, and he never knew what Jarlaxle was thinking. It made him question everything. Once, he would have been content to brush off his feelings as physical exhaustion. That would have comforted him. Now it was a cold comfort at best. There were things going on with him internally, a totally separate world he had no control over.

Seeing him deep in thought, Jarlaxle ordered for him.

For instance, the realization that he loved Jarlaxle. That was terrifying at best. Artemis was suddenly worried that either Jarlaxle would betray him, or would leave him. At the same time, he couldn't stop trying to analyze their embrace. He hadn't hugged anyone since he was four years old. He had put his arms around Jarlaxle of his own free will, for reasons he didn't understand, and Jarlaxle hadn't made a joke or tried to touch him in inappropriate ways. It made the gesture seem safe. He knew, logically, that it wasn't. It couldn't be; it never would be. It was a coincidence that it had turned out in his favor. But he wanted to do it again. The desire burned in his stomach. He tried to dismiss it as stomach pains, but he knew that wasn't really what it was.

It reminded him of the times he had witnessed Drizzt with his friends, exchanging physical affection. It burned him with rage, to see that. Not anything thinking, but pure, uncontaminated rage. It had made his hands shake. That emotion had burned in his stomach, too, and he'd been unable to ignore it. He'd hated Drizzt for that, those shows of affection.

The memory stung him deep with pain that had nothing to do with light from the window being in his eyes. He looked at the surface of the roughly hewn wooden table, blinking.

What came to the table by way of food was two bowls of fish soup. Jarlaxle happily devoured it, and two glasses of white wine. Artemis ate slowly. His stomach felt like a wet, tangled shirt. The soup was hot, and it did taste good, but he couldn't force it into his stomach any faster than he was eating it. The fish was some kind of dense, flaky whitefish. Chunks of it floated in a pale, watery broth among carrots and leeks.

After they finished, Jarlaxle paid with some of the coin they'd earned in advance by agreeing to protect the town, and they retreated to the house. It was quite warm upstairs now, thanks to the fire in the fireplace. They both peeled off their thick outer garments and tossed them on the barren floor.

"How does one take a bath in this place?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis said, "There might be a butcher's shower downstairs."

"What's that?" Jarlaxle asked.

"It's a room downstairs by the kitchen in some northern homes used by men when they get home from work. It usually has a grate in the floor for the water to drain, out into a drain field in the yard." Artemis gestured. "One draws water from a well, heats it up in the kitchen, and bathes in the butcher's shower. It was popularized by butchers, because they would get covered in blood by the time the day was through." He shook his head. "When will you ever learn these things?"

"It isn't as though I'm not trying," Jarlaxle said. "There is too much to learn all at once."

"I suppose," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle sat down on the bed, but Artemis remained standing. After a moment, the assassin began to pace. He didn't say anything.

After a few minutes of studying him, Jarlaxle said, "This was your idea, and yet you seem unhappy."

"I am."

Jarlaxle flopped down on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. "Well, I don't know what you expected, Artemis."

Artemis looked away, disgruntled. "I expected giants to be attacking."

"Well, I am sure that will happen," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis glared at him incredulously.

"In the meantime, try and relax."

"Relax?"

Jarlaxle yawned. "Yes, you know. Relax. Take a break. Take it easy. Tandy, for all we know, is engaged in a mage fight with the Lady of Silverymoon as we speak. Hmm. The giants are probably not worried about our future engagement. They're probably at home, singing songs around a campfire and holding their children."

Artemis' eyebrow twitched. "Is that so?"

"Their sense of clan is very strong," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis clenched his fists.

"I suggest getting some sleep. It won't do any good to be tired and cranky when the giants come calling," Jarlaxle said.

"Is that what you suggest?"

Jarlaxle turned over onto his side. "Yes."

Artemis kicked the footboard of the bed.

Jarlaxle sat up. "What?" He looked at the assassin with annoyance. "I haven't gotten any real rest in almost a week. The Silverymoon prisons were quite uncomfortable."

"How can you not worry?" Artemis demanded.

"I am in control of my mind," Jarlaxle said, lying back down. "That is how."

Artemis sat down on the other bed, facing him. He folded his arms on his knees, staring at Jarlaxle in frustration. He knew Jarlaxle was right, and he hated being lectured to.

In the worst way, he needed Jarlaxle's help. If he were in Calimport, he would simply go to the Copper Ante and talk to Dwahvel. But he wasn't. He was far away, and he needed to talk or else his head might explode. And the only person to talk to was Jarlaxle. Unsympathetic, selfish, manipulative Jarlaxle. His insides rebelled at the thought of asking Jarlaxle to talk. Usually he was adamant that he wanted Jarlaxle's mouth closed during stressful times. This would only encourage the mercenary to torture him.

But…when he had been truly vulnerable, Jarlaxle hadn't tortured him. Jarlaxle had given him exactly what he'd wanted but was afraid to ask for. He had been weak, disturbed…exactly how he still felt. He'd hoped that as soon as they arrived they could fight giants and he could clear his head. Reality turned out to confound his expectations.

Artemis sighed. "Jarlaxle…"

The drow mercenary looked at him with wearily patient eyes. "Yes, _khal abbil_?"

The assassin frowned. "You haven't called me that in a while. Why not?"

"It seemed to annoy you."

That explanation made Artemis feel strange. "You seem to have a clear conscience when it comes to annoying me in other ways."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Those weren't annoyances, Artemis. Those were necessary inconveniences. It wasn't necessary to call you my _khal abbil_ if it irritated you so, so I simply decided not to do it for a while."

"It doesn't annoy me that much," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle chuckled again. "I was hoping you would grow into it."

The assassin felt a little heat on his face and wondered in irritation what could possibly make him so self-conscious about one of Jarlaxle's jokes. Though it wasn't a joke, exactly. It was some kind of witticism, and it made him uncomfortable. "Yes, well…"

Jarlaxle smiled. "Yes?"

Artemis didn't know what he was going to say. How does one tell a friend that one needs to talk? He never told Dwahvel he needed to talk. He sort of burst in on her when he couldn't take it anymore and hoped that she wouldn't decide to be too busy for him. He knew that wasn't a good way to do it. It wasn't like he had any illusions about it, but he didn't know how to do it any other way.

"I…" Artemis sighed. He couldn't help but skirt the issue. Facing it head on was like facing a mountain. Insurmountable. "Why did you…put your arms around me?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "Is that what is worrying you? I did that because that something friends do for each other."

Artemis looked at him with wide eyes. Just when he thought he understood Jarlaxle, Jarlaxle did or said something that was outside his realm of understanding.

Jarlaxle winked. "Zaknafein and I certainly did that. It was something he did whenever he was overwhelmed with emotion, and I always found that it did the trick in that situation." He laughed. "I guess that is one thing about him that rubbed off on me after a while. We were friends for almost a century, you know."

Artemis shook his head. "I didn't know. You never talk about him, remember? Or anything from your past."

Jarlaxle ignored that. "It was two centuries, if you count the time I knew him but didn't really have anything to do with him besides trying to recruit him for Bregan D'aerthe. He was a stubborn male – he refused." Jarlaxle rubbed his chin. "Always refused…" For a moment, he seemed have lost focus, shifting to somewhere far away.

"I don't blame him," Artemis said, watching his comment force Jarlaxle back into the present. He looked at Jarlaxle sourly. "Being under your control is a curse."

"I never did anything to abuse my power," Jarlaxle protested.

"Never mind," Artemis said. He could never tell if the mercenary was really hurt by his accusations or if he pretended to be to force an admission that Artemis was bluffing. The assassin would never be the person to call off the game if he could help it. That would constitute losing, being weak. He didn't like being played for a fool, even in something so small as this. So he never told Jarlaxle it was mostly in jest.

"Does my explanation make you feel any better?" Jarlaxle asked. "You couldn't have seriously believed I had some other, ulterior motive." He grinned. He was teasing again.

Artemis shook his head. "Not an ulterior motive. I didn't know what motive to assign you."

"Friendship," Jarlaxle said, grinning. "Nothing more, nothing less. It's as simple as that."

"Simple? You?" Artemis snorted.

"In this case," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis decided that he did feel better. He took off his boots and lay down on the bed. It was much softer than a stone bench. His back still hurt from sleeping on that bench in his prison cell. What little sleep he'd derived from it. Still, it took some shifting to get comfortable.

"Is that all?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis yawned. "Tonight. I may interrogate you tomorrow."

Jarlaxle grinned at him, but this time, it seemed more warm and less for show. "Very well, then. Good night, Artemis."

The salutation seemed superfluous and a little silly, as well, but Artemis didn't have the heart to be rude. He considered it, but after Jarlaxle's unusually kind behavior today, he couldn't do it. "Good night," he conceded. He rolled over and pulled the pillow under his head.


	12. Chapter 12: The Real Thing

Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

Seeing Jarlaxle relaxed again also reminded Entreri of the novelty of these sparring events. The mercenary leader would not spar with any other. Rai-guy was stunned when Jarlaxle had told him that he meant to battle Entreri on a regular basis.

Entreri understood the logic behind that thinking. Jarlaxle survived, in part, by remaining mysterious, even to those around him. No one could ever really get a good look at the mercenary leader. He kept allies and opponents alike off-balance and wondering, always wondering, and yet here he was, revealing so much to Artemis Entreri.

"Those daggers," Entreri said, coming back at ease and putting on his own sly expression. "They were merely illusions."

"In your mind, perhaps," the dark elf replied in his typically cryptic manner.

"They were," the assassin pressed. "You could not possibly carry so many, nor could any magic create them that quickly."

"As you say," Jarlaxle replied. "Though you heard the clang as your own weapons connected with them and felt the weight as they punctured your cloak."

"I thought I heard the clang," Entreri corrected, wondering if he had at last found a chink in the mercenary's never-ending guessing game.

"Is that not the same thing?" Jarlaxle replied with a laugh, but it seemed to Entreri as if there was a darker side to that chuckle.

Entreri lifted that cloak, to see several of the daggers – solid metal daggers – still sticking in its fabric folds, and to find several more holes in the cloth. "Some were illusions, then," he argued unconvincingly.

Jarlaxle merely shrugged, never willing to give anything away.

With an exasperated sigh, Entreri started out of the room.

"Do keep ever present in your thoughts, my friend, that an illusion can kill you if you believe in it," Jarlaxle called after him.

Entreri paused and glanced back, his expression grim. He wasn't used to being so openly warned or threatened, but he knew that with this one particular companion, the threats were never, ever idle.

"And the real thing can kill you whether you believe in it or not," Entreri replied, and he turned back for the door.

The assassin departed with a shake of his head, frustrated and yet intrigued. That was always the way with Jarlaxle, Entreri mused, and what surprised him even more was that he found that aspect of the clever drow mercenary particularly compelling.

(26-27)

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The Real Thing

The next day, Jarlaxle left a list of things he wanted with a frowning Thurlin, and they reported to First Speaker Alaurun with the rest of the adventurers. There was quite a group of them, perhaps thirty in all. Jarlaxle didn't expect to see so many.

"Thank you for coming," Alaurun said. She wore the same gray robes. Her hair was tied back away from her face. "All of you have arrived in the last three days, meaning that you missed the last giant attack and therefore have no experience fighting them, as our other adventurers have. Everyone is to work on shifts. We need you awake and alert to face the giant threat. I have found the most effective way is to work in groups of five or six people. I know that not many of you have five people in your party. Therefore, I will be assigning work groups. Got it?"

There was general nodding.

"If you have any objections – if you fancy yourself a loner – I suggest you get over that, or you may leave now."  
Jarlaxle chuckled. "She is talking about you."

Artemis glared at him. "I work with others when necessary."

"I wonder who we'll be assigned to."

Artemis elbowed him to keep him silent while the First Speaker was talking.

Tess Alaurun gestured. "If you already have a group with five or more people, please move to the right."

Jarlaxle watched two groups move to the right. One group of five and one group of six.

"How many groups does that leave us?" Alaurun asked. "Do we have any single adventurers here?" She cut the babble. "Raise your hand if you are a single adventurer."

Jarlaxle looked around and counted three people.

"Three," Alaurun said. "Do we have any groups of two?"

Suddenly, Artemis and Jarlaxle found themselves surrounded by a ring of empty space as the other adventurers parted to reveal them.

"I guess we've been chosen," Jarlaxle murmured.

Artemis grunted.

"Perfect," Alaurun said. "That works out fine." She pointed to the adventurers, who still stood with their hands raised. "You, go with them. You are now a group. Don't move yet, it will cause too much noise. In a moment, I will assign you numbers. But before that, do we have any groups of three?" She gestured, bringing together two groups of three into a group of six, and combining the last two adventuring parties into a group of seven. "Now, everyone take their places. Let's see what we have here."

The three lone adventurers pushed past the other groups to join Jarlaxle and Artemis. One was a man in shining steel armor, face hidden by an unrevealing helmet. He wore a royal blue cape. Another was a woman of elven descent dressed in mage's robes. It was hard to tell whether she was full-blooded or not. She was certainly beautiful. The third person was a male halfling.

"I see five groups," Tess Alaurun said. "We will now number off. When I point to your group, call back to me the number I say."

Artemis and Jarlaxle's group became group number three.

The First Speaker clapped her hands. "Now, I want you to introduce yourselves and share your job descriptions. You will need to work together closely for the next few weeks to defeat the giants. I expect you all to take good care of each other. I will confer with Jil and Darven and assign you your posts in a few minutes." She turned to the two people at her side, a young woman in cleric's robes and a man in armor with the symbol of the guards on the right shoulder.

Jarlaxle turned his attention away from the city leader and towards his new companions. He grinned at them and tipped his hat. "I am Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe. Who might you be?" He looked at the elven woman admiringly.

She didn't seem to know how to take that. "Lirilee. Lirilee Shinoa."

"I am pleased to meet you," the man in gleaming armor said, clasping wrists with her. "And you, Jarlaxle." He exchanged the same greeting. "My name is Pelgerrin Michael Whitehorse. My father was a barbarian, but my mother a Waterdhavian. They met somewhere in the middle concerning me." From his tone, he was grinning broadly behind his helmet. "I am a paladin of Torm – the lady said we should introduce ourselves according to our professions."

"That's right, she did," Jarlaxle said. "Very well. I am a mercenary. In my home city, I was the leader of a local band, but now I am merely a humble rogue trying to get used to the surface. Please call me Jarlaxle."

Artemis saw everyone looking at him expectantly. "Artemis Entreri. Sword for hire. Currently his partner." He glanced at Jarlaxle, indicating who he was referring to.

"Well met," Pelgerrin said, extending a hand.

Artemis didn't take it.

Jarlaxle nudged him in the ribs.

He took Pelgerrin's wrist reluctantly, going through the ritual, and let go quickly.

"He's from the South," Jarlaxle said. "I don't think they have that ritual there."

"It is the customary adventurer's greeting," Pelgerrin explained.

Artemis grunted.

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes playfully at that display of grumpiness and flung an arm around Artemis' shoulders. "Please do not mind him. He is an alright sort. He could feel their puzzlement at how to take an endorsement from a rogue drow on someone's character.

"I don't see any religious symbols," Pelgerrin said to Jarlaxle. "Who do you worship?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "No one. There aren't many good choices where I come from." He smiled brilliantly. "I suppose you could say I am an atheist." He fondly hoped he was making the paladin uncomfortable.

The woman interrupted his game of cat and mouse. "I am a mage of Mystra."

"Typical," Artemis said. "How long did you have to think about that choice before you made it?"

She flushed, pale skin turning deep red. "Quite a long time."

"I see." Artemis didn't hide his disdain.

"Now, now," the halfling protested, piping up in a squeaky voice. "Let's not start a fight. We are to be friends."

"And who are you, my dear fellow?" Jarlaxle asked, bowing.

"I am Biggrin Flightly, inventor," the halfling said, reaching up to clasp his wrist.

Jarlaxle exchanged the adventurer's handshake, smiling. "What have you invented?"

"Lots of things!" Biggrin said. "Nothing patented. I have to work out the bugs first."

Jarlaxle frowned. "Bugs?"

"Yes. It's a technical term," the halfling said.

"What does it mean?" Jarlaxle asked.

Biggrin held out his hands. "You see, machines give off light and heat, so bugs are attracted to them. Also, sometimes there is a technical problem with the machine. That's also called a bug."

Jarlaxle laughed.

"I have never seen a halfling wear boots before," Artemis said.

"Oh, these?" Biggrin shifted his feet to display them. "This is one of my inventions. Flight boots!" He puffed out his chest. "That is why I am called Biggrin Flightly. My main work is about the study of flight."

Artemis leaned towards him, smiling. It was not a nice smile. "I hate to tread on one's dreams, but someone has already invented flying boots. Levitation is hardly a secret."

"But this is without magic!" Biggrin said. "Not the kind you're thinking of. I invented these during the Time of Troubles." He gestured emphatically. "These saved me from a dragon!"

"How did they do that without magic?" Artemis asked, frowning.

The halfling crossed his arms. "I'll do demonstrations later."

Artemis gave Jarlaxle a look that clearly said he doubted the boots worked. Jarlaxle shook his head, reserving judgment.

The group was assigned to the east wall of the city. Overlooking the swamp, Jarlaxle could see a bleak expanse of hard ground, interspersed with black pools of water. Low, sparse brush was all that grew, besides some dead, withered trees.

Entreri disconcerted the trio of new adventurers, pacing tensely along their post, looking out at the moor as if it personally offended him.

"There is no guarantee the giants will show up," Jarlaxle reminded him.

Artemis gritted his teeth in frustration and tightened his grip on his sword. "But that is why we are here."

"There is typically three weeks between attacks," Jarlaxle said. "The giants have been losing people, too. Not as many, but their numbers are fewer. They are likely nursing their wounds and planning another attack."

"What am I supposed to do during these two weeks of peace you suggest may come to pass?" Artemis demanded.

"You sound as if you live only for battle," Pelgerrin said. "Try to relax. Sing a hymn of praise."

"I don't 'sing'," Artemis said, glaring at him, "and I certainly don't 'praise'."

Jarlaxle laughed. "No one can help Artemis if he does not help himself. Leave him be. He will be alright as soon as the fighting starts."

"But Pelgerrin is right," Lirilee said, looking concerned. "There is more to life than battle."

Jarlaxle playfully shushed her. "You'll shatter his hope."

"Why would someone want to fight?" Lirilee asked Jarlaxle, since Artemis was ignoring them. "Fighting is horrible."

Jarlaxle shrugged. "He's made his whole life fighting. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just different. I understand how you could have trouble accepting that, but some people need the battles. Haven't you known any soldiers?"

She shook her head.

Jarlaxle clapped a hand on her shoulder. "That explains it. Suffice to say, there is no need to worry about Artemis. He is fine." He chuckled. "A little restless, but fine."

She looked uncomfortable. He removed his hand from her shoulder.

Their shift lasted several hours. Every couple hours or so, the guards gave them rations of jerky, crackers, and water to keep them alert. Jarlaxle took to sitting on the crenellation. He borrowed a deck of cards from one of the guards and did tricks, entertaining Lirilee and confusing Pelgerrin. Biggrin explained his strange weapons to Entreri, who didn't care and wasn't listening.

The sun began to set. It burned murky orange against the moors like an enormous gaslight. A guard came up to them, boots clanking. "Your shift is over. You may rest now." He jerked a thumb. "People are coming to relieve you in a couple minutes. It's okay. You can go before they get all the way here."

"Thank you." Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the guard.

"I suppose we'll be here the same time tomorrow," Biggrin sighed.

"Yes," the guard said, "those are the expectations."

"It's a little earlier than I like to get up," the halfling said, rubbing his eyes. "I have long nights."

"Long nights?" Lirilee asked. "Why?"

"Inventing is best done at night," Biggrin said. "That's when the ideas come."

Pelgerrin turned from Lirilee and Biggrin to Jarlaxle and Artemis. "Look…we're going to be working together every day for a long time…How about we have dinner together? My treat…"

Lirilee ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back behind her shoulder. "You mean, like an after work party?"

"Yes, something like that," Pelgerrin said. "We're going to be seeing a lot of each other…"

"I appreciate your sentiment," Jarlaxle said.

"I can pay for myself," Biggrin said. "We shouldn't make you pay everything if we're going to do this every day after work."

"Alright, little friend," Pelgerrin said. He'd already taken to calling Biggrin that over the course of the day. The halfling seemed not to mind it. "You may do what you wish when it comes to the bill. But let us go, before all the tables are taken."

Biggrin nodded. "Agreed. Where are we going? I usually eat at the Mechanic's Circle, but that's a Hin hangout, sponsored by a priest of Gond. I'm not sure you'd like it there."

"Probably not," Artemis said mildly. He was regarded with surprise; those were some of the first words he'd spoken to the larger group in hours.

"So you are joining us," Pelgerrin said, sounding pleased.

Artemis shrugged. "May as well." He looked away.

Jarlaxle chuckled at the assassin's apparent discomfort with casual friendship. "Let's go to the Lucky Clover. Artemis and I ate there last night. The food is alright, and the drinks plentiful."

"I've never been," Pelgerrin said. "You'll have to lead us, good Jarlaxle."

Jarlaxle grinned and tipped his hat. "That, I will do."

"Right off a cliff," Artemis muttered too low for anyone but Jarlaxle to hear.

Jarlaxle burst out laughing.

"What did he say?" Pelgerrin asked.

Jarlaxle waved his hand. "Nothing. Personal joke."

"Ah." Pelgerrin still looked curious.

* * *

They were in time to get a table at The Lucky Clover. There were a couple of tables left, both completely surrounded by other tables. The lights were turned on bright, unlike the last time Jarlaxle and Artemis entered. Someone in a corner was playing an accordion, and a passingly pretty maid was dancing on a table, swishing her long skirt enthusiastically. Most of the patrons were clapping their hands to the beat and downing a mug of beer.

"This is entertaining," Pelgerrin said. He stood at Jarlaxle's elbow.

Jarlaxle pointed to the empty table that was further to the side than the other. "Let's go sit there."

As before, they had to push through the crowd. However, a few people were polite enough to scoot their chairs closer to the table as they passed. They fumbled a bit at choosing seats, having never sat together before. Pelgerrin ended up in the seat with his back to most of the tavern, Lirilee and Artemis sat on either side of him, Artemis facing the interior of the tavern. Jarlaxle sat at Artemis' right, and Biggrin sat between Lirilee and Jarlaxle. Jarlaxle smirked at Artemis, seeing the assassin's frustration that the dark elf mercenary took the most defensible seat again. There were only a couple of tables Jarlaxle couldn't see, while Artemis was blind to half of the tavern.

Jarlaxle leaned back in his chair, perfectly comfortable, and looked at the paladin across from him. "So, I assume that we will see your face, considering that you can't eat through your helmet."

"Pardon?" Pelgerrin said. "I'm sorry. If you wanted to see my face, you could have just asked. I didn't mean to hide myself." The paladin reached up and lifted up the visor of his helmet. Blue eyes looked back at them. A patch of his face from his eyebrows down to part of the bridge of his nose was now visible. His skin was tanned and smooth, showing that he was a young man. "I just get so used to the helmet."

"That's better," Jarlaxle said, grinning.

"You're one to talk," Artemis muttered. "You always wear that damned eye-patch."

"Necessity, Artemis, necessity," Jarlaxle said.

"Eye-patch?" Biggrin asked. "I thought you could see out of both eyes."

"I can," Jarlaxle said. "That does not preclude the use of an eye patch, especially if it is enchanted."

"But you're not wearing it now," Biggrin said.

Jarlaxle shrugged amiably. Even though he didn't say anything, it was clear that the gesture was meant to end the conversation.

"Why don't we get to know each other better?" Pelgerrin suggested. "Let's talk about what we normally do when we aren't fighting giants."

Jarlaxle and Artemis exchanged glances.

_Too friendly_, Artemis gestured in drow hand signal. It was denoted by a slight tilt of his hand.

Jarlaxle shrugged, leaning back in his chair. _I don't like him either_, he signaled back. That was a twitch of his forefinger and thumb touching.

"I don't think our lives are that interesting," Lirilee said.

Jarlaxle grinned. "That's not the point, though, is it? I'm happy to talk about myself."

"If that isn't the truth," Artemis muttered.

Jarlaxle laughed. "I lead a glamorous life of fighting local monsters and collecting bounties on petty criminals."

"I generally do what he does," Artemis said.

"I protect the laws of Waterdeep," Pelgerrin said. "Sometimes I help beleaguered merchants along the trade roads to Silverymoon when the monsters are acting up."

"Is that what you were doing when Alustriel asked you to come here?" Jarlaxle asked.

Pelgerrin nodded. "Yes. I escorted a merchant and his family to Silverymoon, and Lady Alustriel was holding an open call for adventurers. Torm has made it clear we are to play a more active role in the lives of Faerun's people, so I gladly accepted the duty."

"Duty?" Jarlaxle asked. "Is that what Torm is all about?"

"Sort of," Pelgerrin said.

Jarlaxle leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "I would be most grateful for more explanation. As I am a newcomer to the surface, there is much I have to learn about the ways of people and their deities."

"I would be glad to explain," Pelgerrin said.

Artemis shot Jarlaxle a dirty look.

Jarlaxle blithely ignored him.

Pelgerrin took off his helmet, setting it on the table, and ran a hand through his mussed brown hair. "To begin with, Torm was an earthly hero who served a just king. When he died, he was ascended to godhood by Ao in order to protect and serve the people of Faerun eternally. His paladins are expected to do the same. Wherever there is danger, wherever there is trouble, wherever there is evil to be defeated, the paladins of Torm must be there to do his will." An excited flush came to his cheeks and then receded as he realized he'd gotten a little worked up.

Jarlaxle was grinning broadly. "I see. I wonder that Drizzt Do'Urden claims to serve Mielikki instead of Torm."

Pelgerrin rubbed his cleanshaven chin. "Yes. That is unusual."

Artemis groaned. "What have you started?"

"Nothing," Jarlaxle protested, but his eyes were too bright with amusement to be believed. He addressed Pelgerrin. "Perhaps you should talk to him about this the next time you meet him."

Pelgerrin looked flustered. "But I have never met him."

"Oh?" Jarlaxle said. "I should introduce you."

"I knew it," Artemis growled under his breath. He nudged Jarlaxle forcefully under the table.

"You know Drizzt Do'Urden, the ranger of Mithral Hall, personally?" Pelgerrin gaped.

"Indeed I do," Jarlaxle said. "I am an old family friend. I am over-qualified to introduce you to him. Come; what do you say you and I talk to him when we return to Silverymoon, after this is all over?"

The paladin was breathless. "I would be honored." Pelgerrin bowed his head. "A thousand thanks, friend."

"Don't mention it," Jarlaxle said, grinning. He waved off the paladin's gratitude with a smugness Artemis thought was surely caused by the fact that Jarlaxle knew he was setting up the paladin for trouble.

Jarlaxle caught sight of a server and waved her over.

"Menus, gents?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Jarlaxle said. He gave her a winning smile. "And please return soon for our order."

"Bet your life on it," she said, winking at him. She sauntered away to deliver more beer to a different table.

Artemis didn't have a chance to read the menu the last time, so he was curious. He scanned the stained cardstock. Then he looked up at Jarlaxle. "What is the matter with this menu? It's nothing but fish and vegetables." He pointed to various entries. "Lout in wine, lout stew, baked lout with baby carrots, fried lout, lout in tomato sauce, vegetable soup, vegetable cakes, vegetable gruel…"

Jarlaxle pointed to the fine print at the top of the menu. Artemis only stared, so he proceeded to read it out loud. "'All dishes feature vegetables from our private garden and local lout caught fresh from the cold waters of the Subrin'." Jarlaxle lowered the menu and looked at him. "I believe that explains everything." The drow grinned dazzlingly. "They make it sound so appealing, don't they?"

"I hate food shortages," Artemis said.

The server was back, hands on her hips expectantly. "What'll ye have?"

Pelgerrin raised an index finger. "Lout in wine."

"And to drink?"

"White wine," Pelgerrin said.

Biggrin spoke up. "I'll have the vegetable soup. That sounds wonderful. My mother used to make a vegetable soup –"

The server cut him off, looking at Entreri. "What about you?"

Artemis heaved a sigh. "Lout…in tomato sauce."

"With?"

"Beer."

The server looked at Jarlaxle, smirking. "And you, sir?"

Jarlaxle's eyes lingered in her cleavage. "I'll have…" He paused just long enough to make her blush. Then he met her eyes as if nothing had happened. "Lout stew. With red wine, please."

She collected their menus, still blushing. "Coming right up." She walked away and almost bumped into a drunk patron.

Artemis snorted. "You've done it again."

"What did I do?" Jarlaxle asked, opening his eyes wide.

Artemis shook his head, refusing to play into that obvious ruse.

Lirilee shook her head, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. "Are all drow this lecherous?"

Jarlaxle looked at her with surprise. "Drow? Lecherous? What do you mean?" He pointed across the room.

Lirilee scooted out her chair and tilted her head for a better look. The woman who had been dancing on the table was being molested by a grimy adventurer in leathers. His left hand was on the inside of her thigh, and his right hand was on her bosom. Much laughter was being had at her expense, and no one was immediately rushing to her rescue.

"He looks human to me," Jarlaxle said. He stood up, pushing out his chair.

"What are you going to do?" Artemis asked incredulously. "She was asking for it, flaunting her body like that."

Jarlaxle gave him a hard look. "I'm going to do what you should be doing."

Pelgerrin stood up. "Wait. I'll go. I agree with Entreri that she wasn't on her best behavior, but that's no excuse to touch her like that."

Jarlaxle stood by and watched Pelgerrin wade through the crowd. The paladin tapped the man on the shoulder. When he turned around, Pelgerrin firmly removed his hands from the dancer. He tried to land a punch on Pelgerrin's face, but the paladin easily batted his fist aside and twisted his arm behind his back. Keeping it there, Pelgerrin then escorted the man to the door. He said something, wagging a finger at the drunken adventurer, and pushed him outside.

Everyone around the table was watching by the time Pelgerrin came back to them.

"What did he say?" Lirilee asked.

"He said," Pelgerrin said, sitting down with a grave expression, "that she asked for it by being so lovely." He glanced up at Jarlaxle. "I am sorry you had to see that."

Jarlaxle didn't make a move to sit down. "So am I."

He straightened his shirt and vest with a stiff tug and went over to the dancer. They saw him gesturing, trying to catch her eye. She was looking away with her head bowed. Jarlaxle produced a handkerchief and offered it to her. She took it and dabbed her eyes, apparently crying. He gave her a smile and asked a question, gesturing. She nodded. He put an arm around her waist and helped her down from the table. Jarlaxle looked over his shoulder at them and then slipped an arm around the woman's waist again, walking with her. They were headed towards the stairs.

Just then, the server came back with their meals on a big tray. "Where's the dark one?" she asked.

"He left," Artemis said.

"I'll pay for his meal," Pelgerrin said. "We're all hungry. One of us will eat it."

"Very well," the server said. She unloaded their plates onto the table. "I'll be right back with your drinks."

"Take your time," Pelgerrin said. "We're not in a hurry."

* * *

They ate their meal together and parted ways. Artemis went back to the house he shared with Jarlaxle, picked the lock, and let himself in. He was upstairs on his bed polishing his sword when Jarlaxle came back a couple hours later.

"Did you sleep with her?" Artemis asked without looking up.

Jarlaxle paused on the stairs, still four steps from the top. "Of course not. The girl was traumatized." He came up the rest of the way, gave Artemis a piercing look the assassin pretended not to notice, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He took off his hat with a dramatic flourish and hooked it on the bed-knob of the footboard. He crossed his legs. "Why would I sleep with her? Is that what you would do in that situation?"

"I would leave her," Artemis said without skipping a beat. "She deserved it for doing what she was doing."

"I won't hear that," Jarlaxle said. "Not from you." He jabbed an accusing finger at the assassin. "You, of all people –"

Artemis threw his sword down. "Why me of all people?" he gave Jarlaxle a frightening stare.

Jarlaxle returned the look on him like the slice of a knife. "You were young and defenseless too once, and you wanted someone to defend you – but no one did. Now you're angry, and bitter – and I am, too, but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on other people that needed help like you did!"

Artemis' complexion was pale, with two bright burning spots of red on his cheeks. His hands trembled, but his voice was viciously controlled. "Young and defenseless how, Jarlaxle?"

Jarlaxle looked surprised by this reaction. And wary. "How is not what I know. But I know what I know, because everyone is defenseless to begin with. We grow our defenses by being beaten down by those bigger and stronger than us. And simply because we had to do it ourselves without help from everyone else does not mean that we have to turn our backs on others when it comes their turn to discover what pain life is."

"Stop your preaching," Artemis said, turning away.

"Why?" Jarlaxle demanded. "Why should I, when you are so cold and callous –"

"You aren't?"

"I am when I have to be," Jarlaxle said. He gestured violently. "And now was not one of those times! I had every opportunity to show mercy to her. I lost nothing by it! So I did. Is that so terrible a thing to be, Artemis? Merciful when I can be?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because your opinion matters to me!"

"In my opinion," Artemis said slowly, "you will only be appreciated for being merciful when you have to make a sacrifice, so doing anything else is pointless. Why should you put out effort to do something when you aren't going to gain by it? I thought you believed in those principles."

"I do," Jarlaxle said. He looked at the floor. "Generally, I do…but why should I have to live by it all the time if I don't like doing it?"

"You're a dreamer." Artemis sounded as if this was the worst condemnation he could give someone.

"If you don't dream, how do you know what you want?" Jarlaxle asked.

The assassin shrugged. His shoulders raised a tenth of an inch and then lowered. "I don't."

"Then start dreaming."

Artemis gave the mercenary a pained glance over his shoulder. "I don't know how to start."

"Yes, you do," Jarlaxle said. "You dreamed when you ran away from your father."

"That didn't work out."

"Then try again," Jarlaxle said.

"And he wasn't my father."

"I apologize. The man pretending to be your father." Jarlaxle leaned forward insistently and put a hand on his shoulder. "But you must try. There is no other way to live."

"There is, and I've been living it. It's called life without hope," Artemis said.

"Life without hope isn't life," Jarlaxle said.

"That may be, but what are you – what am I – going to do about it?"

"I'll teach you to dream," Jarlaxle said.

"I can't do it."  
"Yes, you can." Jarlaxle held up an index finger firmly. "You must."

Artemis gave him a look of mingled amusement and irritation. "I must? Why?"

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes at the assassin. "Because if you don't, I will leave."

Artemis' face went blank with shock.

"I've stayed because I think you are wholly capable of dreaming," Jarlaxle said. "People who can't dream are boring. That is why Menzoberranzan has nothing to offer me. If I thought you were incapable of having a dream, I never would have journeyed with you so far out of my comfort zone." He stood and tightened his grip on Artemis' shoulder, forcing him to turn around. The mercenary leaned forward until he was inches away from Artemis' face. "People who can't dream aren't worth my time."

Artemis shoved him away and stood, looking enraged. "Is that so?"

Jarlaxle smirked coolly, hands going to the hilts of his daggers. "You want to fight?"

Artemis snatched his blade from the floor. That was all the answer Jarlaxle needed.

Jarlaxle didn't have a sword, and he only had a few daggers, so Artemis was not surprised when he found the dark elf mercenary's aim to be disarming him and stealing the sword from him. It became a battle of Jarlaxle fighting close, so close it defeated the usefulness of his sword, and Artemis trying to keep him at bay. It was even more exciting than the sparring matches they had in Calimport. There were no witnesses, no magic spells to protect them from each other, and no unfair advantages.

Jarlaxle found an opening in his sword routine and threw a dagger.

Artemis deflected it with his sword and caught it. He pressed Jarlaxle towards the corner of the room.

Jarlaxle used levitation and ran up the side of the wall, adding a new dimension to the fight and defeating his strategy.

They pressed each other, circling, but neither one could find any holes in their partner's defense.

It was Jarlaxle who took a chance, lunging at him with daggers spinning. Artemis was surprised by the groundless attack and almost failed to counter a stab directed at his side.

He slashed with his sword. Jarlaxle jumped back, avoiding being cut in half by a slim margin. Sweat trickled down Artemis' forehead and dripped off the end of his nose. Not from exertion, but from the sheer danger of what he'd done. He relied on Jarlaxle's ability to be a matched foe.

Knowing Jarlaxle would take advantage of his hesitation, he pressed the drow, not giving his partner anything to work with.

Jarlaxle dodged as many blows as he countered. Without a sword, he'd have to be pretty underhanded to defeat Artemis. But he'd started this fight, so he wouldn't back down now.

"What are you smirking at?" Artemis demanded.

"This." Jarlaxle suddenly pressed him, doubling his speed and dropping into a certain attack pattern he had cause to know gave the assassin trouble.

Artemis' eyes widened, suddenly pushed back on his heels. He almost dropped his sword in surprise. "Drizzt –" The cry died on his lips.  
Jarlaxle used his confusion and almost succeeded in disarming him. The assassin held onto his sword at the last moment, regaining his wits and fending off Jarlaxle's attacks the best he could. "How did you –"

Jarlaxle laughed, pressing him harder. "Observation."

Artemis remembered in a flash that at least two of the times he'd been fighting Drizzt, Jarlaxle was watching. Probably more than that, without his knowledge. He thought he would never have to face the drow ranger again. Hadn't thought about this attack routine in years. Never learned how to fight it. "Damnit!"

"Be on your guard," Jarlaxle taunted. He got through Entreri's defenses, whipping a shallow scratch along the human's cheek.

That seemed to mobilize the assassin. He let out a roar of frustration and fought back with a force he'd contained up til now. He managed to knock one of the daggers from Jarlaxle's hand, ruining the pattern, and punched out with his sword hilt.

Jarlaxle ducked and lashed out with his leg, hooking it behind the assassin's and landing Artemis flat on his back. In that instant, he did a backflip and snatched his dagger from the floor.

They circled each other, back where they started.

"I could've done worse," Jarlaxle said. "You're rusty."

"I'm holding back," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle grinned. "Where's the fun in that?"

They lunged at each other at exactly the same time. Artemis moved his head, barely dodging Jarlaxle's dagger throw. The dagger clattered against the wall and fell to the floor, loud music to the fact that the sword point of Artemis' blade hovered over Jarlaxle's heart.

Jarlaxle licked dry lips. No magic between them, nothing to keep that blade from penetrating his chest and biting into his heart like an apple. He still held a dagger in one hand, half-upraised.

They circled slowly, the mercenary knowing that Artemis could cut him down in any attempt to get away.

The scrutiny of that blade hovering over his heart made his chest tingle. That sensation swept through his body, as if his body could instinctively sense the nearness of the cutting edge.

He'd never lost a sparring match with Artemis. That was one thing he'd vowed never to do. But the assassin had been tense, grumpy. Not fun. He'd wanted to give the assassin a way to work out his frustrations. The mercenary had invited Artemis' ire before he could think better of the decision.

Jarlaxle's eyes were wide, locked on Artemis' face. His body tensed, one inch at a time, as Artemis' blade fractionally lowered. Ribs…Jarlaxle held his breath. Stomach…Jarlaxle felt his stomach tie itself in knots. The blade went lower, grazing his belt buckle. His jaw dropped.

As if the sound of his sword scraping against the belt buckle broke some sort of spell, Artemis sheathed his sword and extended his hand.

Jarlaxle took it.

"It was a good match," Artemis said calmly, but there was a gleam in his eyes.

Jarlaxle smiled weakly.

Artemis let go of his hand. "Thank you for helping release my frustrations."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat. "Don't mention it." Before he realized it looked very much like running away, Jarlaxle crossed the room and went down the stairs into the cold, unused part of the house.

Author's Note: I needed Ariel D especially this time because I needed reassuring about my pacing.


	13. Chapter 13: Temptation

Excerpt from R.A. Salvatore's Starless Night:

"So beautiful," the bald mercenary remarked, running his fingers through Catti-brie's thick tangle of auburn hair.

Catti-brie did not blink; she just stared hard at the dimly lit, undeniably handsome figure. There was something different about this drow, the perceptive young woman realized. She did not think that he would force himself upon her. Buried within Jarlaxle's swashbuckling façade was a warped sense of honor, but a definite code nonetheless, somewhat like that of Artemis Entreri. Entreri had once held Catti-brie a prisoner for many days, and he had not placed a hand on her except to prod her along the necessary course.

So it was with Jarlaxle, Catti-brie believed, hoped. If the mercenary truly found her attractive, he would probably try to woo her, court her attention, at least for a while.

"And your courage cannot be questioned," Jarlaxle continued in his uncomfortably perfect surface dialect. "To come alone to Menzoberranzan!" The mercenary shook his head in disbelief and looked to Entreri, the only other person in the small, square room. "Even Artemis Entreri had to be coaxed here, and would leave, no doubt, if he could find the way.

"This is not a place for surface dwellers," Jarlaxle remarked. To accentuate his point, the mercenary jerked his hand suddenly, again taking the Cat's Eye circlet from Catti-brie's head. Blackness, deeper than even the nights in the lowest of Bruenor's mines, enveloped her, and she had to fight hard to keep a wave of panic from overwhelming her.

Jarlaxle was right in front of her. She could feel him, feel his breath, but all she saw was his red-glowing eyes, sizing her up in the infrared spectrum. Across the room, Entreri's eyes likewise glowed, and catti-brie did not understand how he, a human, had gained such vision.

She dearly wished she possessed it as well. The darkness continued to overwhelm her, to swallow her. Her skin felt extra sensitive; all her senses were on their very edge.

She wanted to scream but would not give her captors the satisfaction.

Jarlaxle uttered a word that Catti-brie did not understand, and the room was suddenly bathed in soft blue light.

"In here, you will see," Jarlaxle said to her. "Out there, beyond your door, there is only darkness." He teasingly held the circlet before Catti-brie's longing gaze, then dropped it into a pocket of his breeches.

"Forgive me," he said softly to Catti-brie, taking her off guard. "I do not wish to torment you, but I must maintain my security. Matron Baenre desires you – quite badly I would guess, since she keeps Drizzt as a prisoner – and knows that you would be a fine way to gnaw at his powerful will."

(233-234)

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Temptation

* * *

The cold air of the sitting room soothed his skin. Sweat covered his body. Silence reigned except for the beating of his own heart, loud and close in his ears.

Jarlaxle took in a deep breath. _Artemis almost killed me_. He lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The sparring match flashed through his head. A jolt went through his stomach again as he replayed the scratching sound of Artemis' sword against his belt buckle.

Abruptly, he realized something. He wasn't afraid. In the moment he saw Artemis' sword pointed at his defenseless body, he thought he was afraid. But he wasn't. Jarlaxle took in another deep breath, tried to still his fast-beating heart. He wasn't afraid at all, actually. In the wake of the adrenaline, he felt a surge of arousal. The mercenary turned his back to the stairs, glad he left when he did. Artemis would kill him if the assassin found him this way. He certainly didn't mean to be turned on. Jarlaxle couldn't remember a time when he'd felt this way towards Artemis before. He respected Artemis. He liked Artemis. He didn't lust for Artemis' body.

_It must be the sparring,_ he reasoned. The mercenary manipulated Artemis into sparring to release strong emotions. The danger and the tension must have triggered his body's response. The response was natural; Jarlaxle didn't demonize his feelings. But even when he sparred with Zaknafein in the past, his body never had this response. Against Zaknafein, he'd matched the Weapon Master's fury with calm, never allowing himself to become excited. Upstairs, a few moments ago, he'd let go of his control. The experience exhilarated him. The fight against Artemis felt like a real fight. A holy grail in Jarlaxle's constant search for entertainment: a challenge.

That was all it was, an exhilarating challenge. Jarlaxle shrugged. Naturally, his body responded.

At the same time, he knew better than to think Artemis would be as lenient. The assassin's response to Kimmuriel was enough proof of that, and he knew that Artemis bristled at the mention of sex. Jarlaxle shook his head. He would lose Artemis forever if he showed himself upstairs like this. The mercenary sighed. He didn't want to leave, but saw no other choice. He certainly was not going to stay down here in the cold, dark house like some whipped dog. That would be much too humiliating, not to mention simply not fun.

Where to go? There had to be places he could go to satisfy his urges. Such places always existed. Not brothels, though he would go if he truly needed some release. Jarlaxle thought instead of places where adventurous females might gather, also looking for company. There were many taverns in Nesmé left unexplored. The dark elf mercenary grinned. He should explore them. Night life was nothing new to him. Spies operated at all hours of the night and day.

* * *

Artemis wiped his forehead on his sleeve and considered the empty room. The child's bed was still in the corner by the window. He pivoted and surveyed the way the light flowed into shadow by the stairs. He turned and saw the two plain beds, sheets unmade. He saw the fireplace. What just happened here? He surveyed the room as if the room itself could give him some clues.

In spite of his anger, he hadn't wanted to hurt Jarlaxle. He'd held himself back, until the last possible moment. And it wasn't because he knew it wasn't a good idea to injure his allies without an extra healing potion around. He'd claim that, but it was so much garbage. With himself, he never lied if he could help it. Personal honesty kept him alive – kept him aware of his weaknesses and strengths. Lying to himself did no good.

The reason he held himself back was of course because of his unwanted, softhearted emotions concerning the drow. He hadn't enjoyed the fight… until almost the end. Something let go inside of him, and he'd wanted very much to –

Artemis Entreri shook his head and ran a hand along his temple. He turned on his heel and began pacing. Wanted what? What he wanted frightened him a little. He'd wanted the same thing he wanted with Drizzt. He'd wanted to show Jarlaxle he was powerful, that no one could hurt him, that Jarlaxle was wrong. He'd wanted…to spill Jarlaxle's blood.

Artemis sighed. He almost…in spite of Jarlaxle's surrender, the fear in the drow's eyes, he almost plunged the blade home, just to see Jarlaxle's blood spill out onto the floor. But his insides rebelled at that thought as soon as he imagined Jarlaxle lying on the floor, a pool of red around him and the smell of metal in the air. It had been hard, but he pushed the blade away, put it away where it couldn't hurt anyone. As soon as he put the blade away he realized what Jarlaxle had been trying to do. The drow didn't mean it; it was just to get him riled up enough to fight and let out some of his anger. Some of the anger over what happened in Silverymoon.

Artemis raked a hand through his limp, sweaty hair. Why had he wanted to hurt Jarlaxle? He knew now that spilling the blood of his opponents, the thorns in his side, wouldn't satisfy him. He knew that ever since he saw Drizzt's life draining from his smug, sparkling lavender eyes.

Was that why he was afraid to fight again?

The question came unbidden, and Artemis stopped cold. He wasn't afraid! He was never afraid to fight. Fighting was the only way he knew to survive. He needed another battle. Chills raced down his arms, prickling. He was afraid. Why? He wasn't afraid to die. He'd wanted to die so many times, faced the possibility head on and never flinched from it. The assassin let out a low moan. He was afraid to win. He was afraid of what would happen when he saw someone he'd struggled for his life against on the ground, blood blooming behind them. He was afraid of what he would feel. Or wouldn't feel. Would he feel disappointed? Would he still feel angry? Why was satisfaction so elusive these days? Jarlaxle had him questioning whether he'd ever felt it. Peace of mind. He did have a dream. He just didn't know how to express it. Artemis Entreri's dream was that maybe someday things wouldn't hurt so much.

* * *

Jarlaxle approached the bar. He nudged carefully between the crowded tables, his eye on a half elf female. She caught his eye from across the room with her hair. Long, copper curls that reminded him of Catti-brie and how he never had the chance to convince her a night with him wouldn't do her any harm.

Lanterns hung from the ceiling, cheerfully illuminating the tavern. He and Artemis would never go here. Jarlaxle pushed that observation away. _It's been too long since I have been on my own, _he thought. _I'm starting to think of everything in terms of who is here to share it. There is nothing wrong with mingling with strangers. _

The half elf wore tight fitting brown leather and a cream colored tunic with full sleeves. A rapier hung in a sheath at her hip. Her style was light and nimble, like his. She didn't notice him yet. She was entranced by the accordion player. A balding gnome played a jaunty tune on his accordion, perched on a stool too tall for him. The half-elf clapped along and laughed. A half empty flute of some light, sparkling beverage sat near her elbow.

Jarlaxle smiled. A row of four stools on her left were all empty, allowing him easy access. He hopped onto the stool next to her. The mercenary leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the counter, taking in the bustle of activity and the half elf's enjoyment.

A slim, middle aged human in somber brown approached him behind the bar. "What'll you have?"

Jarlaxle pointed to the half-elf's glass. "I'll have what she's having. What is it?"

The human gave him a look that was not quite a reproach. "Elven wine."

Jarlaxle grinned and pointed to the tip of his ear. "Am I an elf or aren't I?"

The man's jaw clenched. He visibly held back a retort to the contrary. When he had control of himself, he nodded. "As you wish. Six gold per glass."

The half elf female jolted and stared at the bartender, apparently surprised at what she overheard. "Nesmor, four gold." She glanced at Jarlaxle, then back to the bartender. "What is the problem?"

"He is not an elf, Mila," the human said, his voice tight. "The rules are clear. Four gold for elves, six gold for all non-elves. That's the establishment."

The half elf spread her hands. "I am not an elf and you let me have elven wine for four gold."

The bartender didn't like being talked to like this. His body tensed and he leaned away from her. An uneasy expression sat on his face. "You are at least half elf, Mila. He is no elf."

Jarlaxle almost said he had evidence to the contrary, but he kept his mouth shut. He wanted to know how she was going to handle it. Jarlaxle glanced at her cautiously.

"How many drow do you know who would belly up to a bar instead of burning the house down?" she demanded. She raked a hand through her curls in apparent frustration. "I think his conduct speaks for itself. Serve the man."

"I will," the bartender said, narrowing his eyes at her. "At six gold a glass. As per the rules."

The half elf grabbed her flute of wine and splashed it on the bartender's face. "There! You owe yourself six gold. Get a good taste."

The bartender glared at her, fine wine dripping down his face. "Mila," he growled. "Don't make me bounce you."

"I'm bouncing myself!" She jumped off her barstool and strode through the crowded tavern, forcing people to pull in closer to their tables.

Jarlaxle took a look at the bartender, looked at the half elf, and scrambled after her, clutching his hat with one hand to make sure he didn't lose it when he bumped into someone. He stepped out onto the street a moment after her and looked both ways. She stormed down the street to his left, curls bouncing. Jarlaxle ran after her. "Miss! Stop!"

She turned around, hand flying to the hilt of her rapier.

Jarlaxle skidded to a stop before he got close enough to touch her shoulder and retracted his hand. This was more awkward than he'd intended, but he went through with it. The mercenary took off his hat and bowed to her. "The elf from the bar."

"I know," she said. She flashed a lopsided smile. "I noticed your hat."

Jarlaxle laughed. He placed his hat on his head. "I think everyone does." He held out a hand. "I want to thank you."

Mila looked a little confused.

"For what you did for me in the tavern," Jarlaxle said.

"I didn't do anything." The half elf shook her head. He admired how her curls gleamed even in the jaundiced light from the street lamps. "I splashed the bartender with my drink. I didn't do anything that took any effort."

"I still appreciate it," Jarlaxle said. "I don't have much of a way to defend myself against prejudice without taking the law into my on hands. Since that is something my people are noted for, that wouldn't win me any respect." He smiled ruefully. "More likely a prison sentence."

"It was nothing," she said. "Nesmor was being a prick."

"You could have agreed with him," Jarlaxle said.

Mila's face twisted into an expression of disgust. "How could I? He's talking about you the way some people talk about me."

"But you are beautiful," Jarlaxle said.

She frowned. "But not an elf."

"I think it doesn't matter," Jarlaxle said.

She looked at the ground. When she glanced at his face, she was smiling again. "Thank you."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have asked for elven spirits," Jarlaxle said.

"You probably shouldn't," she agreed.

The mercenary held up his hands. "Though in my defense I didn't know what it was when I asked for it."

She laughed. "I didn't think you did. You don't seem that foolish."

He bowed to her. "Thank you."

Mila gave him a little bow in response.

"What do you say to finding a different tavern and having a few drinks together?" Jarlaxle asked.

She hesitated just a moment. Then she gave him a warm, intrigued smile. "Alright."

She allowed Jarlaxle to take her arm.

* * *

Jarlaxle rolled over with a sigh. The scents of sweat and sex hung in the air, both comforting to him in their own way. Mila lay beside him. Her bed was warm. The warmth, the release, and her soft covers smoothed away the tension in his muscles, but he remembered the sparring match. He frowned.

The mercenary weighed his options and knew now that he had to contact Kimmuriel. Between showing weakness to Kimmuriel and dealing with Entreri without the weapons he'd become accustomed to, he now chose facing Kimmuriel as the less dangerous idea. Kimmuriel might be displeased and question his strength, if privately, but battle without his bracers and magical defenses promised physical harm. It was not so much that he feared Entreri. But if he could not defeat Artemis Entreri, a man he knew, then perhaps he could not defeat the giants, either. His plan rested on besting the giants, and he had no intention of letting his plan fall apart.

He kissed Mila on the forehead and whispered his good-byes.

* * *

When Jarlaxle crept into the bedroom, Artemis was still asleep. He knelt by his bed and pulled the pack out from under it. Glancing over his shoulder at the assassin, he took out the psionic crystal and the eye patch and replaced the pack under his bed. Jarlaxle retreated from the room, quite sure that Artemis slept through the intrusion.

The cold darkness of the sitting room suited Jarlaxle's purpose fine. Kimmuriel would not object to coming here. He sat down in the dusty chair, crossed his legs, and smiled. Jarlaxle took off his hat and slipped on the eye patch. Instantly, mental shields washed over him, imparting a sense of comfort he sorely missed. The crystal in his hand was receptive to his mental command. Jarlaxle sent a message to the network of scrying crystals in his office. Even if Kimmuriel were not there, the psionicist would sense the incoming message to the crystals and go there to receive it.

_Oh, Kimmuriel? _Jarlaxle thought casually. _When you have a moment, would you come? _

A blue screen appeared in the room a few minutes later. Jarlaxle waited expectantly. Kimmuriel walked through. His waist long hair was unbound, and he wore a dour, high-necked robe. His red eyes glowed irritably.

"Good evening," Jarlaxle said.

Kimmuriel bowed to him. The psionicist scowled at Jarlaxle's use of Common. "What is your wish?" he asked pointedly in Drow.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "I need a few things from home. That is all."

"Do you not wish to hear status reports?" Kimmuriel asked.

Jarlaxle waved him off. "Soon, but not now."

"You have not contacted me for nearly three months," Kimmuriel said. His eyes narrowed. "What has kept you so busy?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "That is none of your business. I am quite sure you have enough on your plate dealing with the sour Matrons of our beloved homeland."

"What equipment do you desire?" Kimmuriel asked.

Jarlaxle gestured at his wrists carelessly. "Oh, a new pair of bracers, to start with. I can think of some other things, but we'll see."

"What happened to your other ones – the bracers you wore when we last met?" Kimmuriel dared to ask.

Jarlaxle laughed, but did not answer. He merely looked at Kimmuriel shrewdly. He knew that it made Kimmuriel uncomfortable. Kimmuriel fought back with his own stare for as long as he could, but Jarlaxle widened his grin by increments until the psionicist squirmed. Jarlaxle could see his lieutenant's face heat with confusion and embarrassment. He knew Kimmuriel yearned to be able to read his mind, was nonplussed that he could not, and knew not why Jarlaxle leered at him.

Kimmuriel heaved a defeated sigh and bowed. "As you wish."

"There's a good boy," Jarlaxle said. He studied his hands. "I think I shall have you bring me a full complement of jewelry and a new cloak as well."

"Anything else?"

Jarlaxle smiled brightly at him. "A change of clothing would be nice. Humans have no sense of style."

"Neither do you," Kimmuriel muttered.

Jarlaxle burst out laughing. "You and Entreri are much alike."

Kimmuriel hissed. "There is no need to insult me. I am doing as you say." He disappeared through his blue screen and came back with Jarlaxle's belongings.

Jarlaxle thanked him, but the psionicist, apparently offended beyond tolerance, ignored him and retreated again with hunched shoulders. This afforded him much merriment.

* * *

Artemis Entreri woke up and immediately knew why. Jarlaxle stood over him. "I've decided!" Jarlaxle said.

"Why don't you wake one up the normal way?" Artemis sat up with a groan.

Jarlaxle inquired smilingly, "What would be the normal way?"

"With coffee."

Jarlaxle produced a steaming cup from behind his back. Artemis looked at it with narrowed eyes. The dark liquid sloshed against the side of the cup gently as Jarlaxle held it out to him.

He took it and glared up at Jarlaxle. "Where did you get this?" The moment he tried to glare into Jarlaxle's eyes he noticed. Jarlaxle wore the crimson eye patch. The sight was so familiar it slipped past him and startled him now.

"I've decided," Jarlaxle announced, going on as if Artemis had asked him to continue with his earlier statement.

Artemis sipped at his piping hot coffee and eyed Jarlaxle warily.

Jarlaxle swooshed his upraised index finger through the air. "I've decided our time of troubles and hardships is over!"

"Are not troubles and hardships the same thing?" Artemis asked. He decided that the coffee was good, fresh, and not poisoned.

"Troubles are the problems themselves and the hardships are the unfortunate events that happen as a result of them," Jarlaxle said.

"Just as long as we're being clear."

"I have decided our time of troubles and hardships is over…" Jarlaxle frowned. He muttered. "I said that already." He frowned at Artemis. "You are messing up my speech."

Artemis looked straight into the eye he could see and loudly slurped his coffee. "Go on. Don't mind me. Let's hear it."

"No, it's no good." Jarlaxle waved his hand and sighed wearily. "You ruined it."

"Hmm. A shame."

Jarlaxle said, "I contacted Kimmuriel this morning and retrieved a good deal of my belongings."

"Such as?"

Jarlaxle lifted both arms.

"New bracers," Artemis said. He examined them from where he sat and found them identical to the bracers Jarlaxle had always worn.

"New ones?" Jarlaxle asked. "Did I say they were new? Perhaps I merely retrieved my rightful property."

The assassin frowned in sudden doubt. Jarlaxle's sly smile was almost enough to make him believe these were the same bracers. "You defeated Tandy this morning?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. At the look on Artemis' face, he burst out laughing. "These are new."

Artemis nodded and sipped his coffee, his stunned expression replaced by a relieved smirk. He raised an eyebrow. "So do you keep magical bracers in stock whenever you need a new pair?"

"I keep my options open," Jarlaxle said. "Who knows when I may tire of one of my toys and desire a new thing to play with?"

"Like me?" Artemis asked casually.

Jarlaxle frowned. "You are not a toy."

"I was once."

"Once, perhaps, but no more." Jarlaxle shook his head. "I believe you know we have come far past that."

Artemis finished his coffee and set the empty cup down on the nightstand. "What of it?"

"I did not mean what I said last night," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis rose from his bed in one graceful motion and stretched. "You are apologizing?"

"An apology?" Jarlaxle asked. "Why would I do that? It was for your own good."

"To make me fight you," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle nodded. "And to apprise you of the situation."

"What situation?" Artemis leaned over, picked up his belt from the floor, and buckled it around his waist.

"If you don't shape up." Jarlaxle raised both hands palm up. "I have standards."

Artemis snorted. "What kind of standards?"

"Oh, you know," Jarlaxle said. "This, that."

Artemis narrowed his eyes at him. "This and that?"

"Some of it you already know," Jarlaxle said. "Others, you will learn."

The mercenary was back to threatening him. This had to happen once Jarlaxle was secure in his own power again. He should have known that the mercenary would return to his prodding and his enigmatic statements once securely wrapped in his magical safeguards, but Artemis felt disappointed. A little. He supposed he should get used to the discomfort again. "What am I supposed to already know?" He glared, meeting the threat with a challenge.

Jarlaxle laughed. "I require a sense of honor." He held up an index finger. "Luckily for me, that you already have. Am I not correct?"

Artemis refused to answer him. Truthfully, the comment knocked him too far off balance to think of a reply. And the first thing in the morning, too, before he had even finished his coffee. The mercenary was definitely back to playing games with him, twisting his arm by using his weaknesses.

Jarlaxle grinned and held up a finger, putting one hand behind his back. "I haven't come back empty-handed. I have a present for you."

"A present?" Artemis looked at him warily. Jarlaxle could break his neck with the speed of his subject changes. It was like being yanked around a corner.

Jarlaxle produced a sword from behind his back with a flourish. He held it out hilt first. "Take it."

Artemis wrapped his hand around the hilt and breathed in sharply. He could feel the hum of magic through the hilt of the sword. He did a test swing. The blade felt unnaturally light and perfectly balanced. "What is this?" He met Jarlaxle's eyes.

Jarlaxle looked at him expectantly, watching his reaction closely. "It is a sword. We needed superior weapons, to replace the ones lost."

This is almost as good as Charon's Claw. Artemis tempered his excitement. There was no way Jarlaxle could have such a fine sword on hand just in case. "It's almost as if…you knew."

"I acquired it for you," Jarlaxle said. He nodded.

Artemis narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. "When?"

"A while ago," Jarlaxle said.

The assassin scowled. "Why? You knew I had a perfectly good sword."

"I hoped you would get rid of it," Jarlaxle said. "Once you knew."

"Knew what?" Artemis raised an eyebrow.

"Once you felt the sword reject you," Jarlaxle said. He held up his hands. "I did research. I found out the sword was sensitive to the fluctuations of the soul."

"So what?" Artemis demanded. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You acquired it during a dark period," Jarlaxle said bluntly. "The sword allows you to wield it as long as you are consumed by anger – rage and fear. As soon as you felt those emotions subsiding, Charon's Claw would reject you."

Artemis laughed, shaking his head. "And why would I cease to feel that?"

"It runs counter to my goals," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis snorted. "So you first engineered to take my sword away from me, and then you busied yourself with finding another one almost as good so that I wouldn't find it in my heart to be angry with you at the removal?"

"This sword is not sentient," Jarlaxle said. "I would think you find that a plus."

"I do," Artemis admitted.

"I did not force you to give up Charon's Claw," Jarlaxle said. "It would reject you naturally, after a time. Then you would need a sword…" He shrugged.

"And you hurried to supply one," Artemis said. His smirk was not quite mocking. "Because you are a friend."

Jarlaxle gave him a little bow. "I do my best to serve." The mercenary ventured a grin. "Do you like it?"

"What does it do?" Artemis asked.

"I figured the ability that made Charon's Claw so attractive to you was the ability to cut through solid objects of any type without difficulty," Jarlaxle said. "I found a sword that does just that." He added, "Its name is Cutter."

Artemis appraised the fine edge of the blade. "I like it." He took the jeweled sword out of its sheath and tossed it on the bed. He replaced it with his new weapon. The assassin nodded with satisfaction. "I am glad to see it doesn't need a special sheath."

"No." Jarlaxle chuckled. "It has a safeguard against splitting sheaths."

Artemis could think of a lot of questions that demanded to be asked. What was Jarlaxle's point in giving him the sword now? Why did Jarlaxle decide to contact Kuimmuriel last night, when only a day ago the drow mercenary seemed unsure? Did the mercenary take being defeated in their sparring match so seriously? Artemis had to consider that, and he realized that from what he knew of Jarlaxle, the drow mercenary was indeed a sore loser. The drow never wanted to admit when he was wrong, even if the mistake almost cost himself his own life…like the matter of Crenshinibon.

Entreri sighed. He spoke mainly to keep his thoughts from Jarlaxle. "It is probably time for our shift, if not past time. Is that not so?"

Jarlaxle took off his hat and ran a hand over his bald head. "We shall be fashionably late." He replaced his hat on his head and turned with a melodramatic swirl of his cape. "I suppose they are waiting on our appearance with bated breath."

Artemis snorted. "If I were them, I would be relieved, hoping that the both of us skipped town sometime in the night."  
Jarlaxle gave him a hurt look. "How can you say that of me – and after I have given you such a nice gift?"

The assassin gave him a hard look. "You also woke me up."

Jarlaxle sighed. "Ah, how short-lived is gratitude."

* * *

Just as Artemis predicted, their companions were waiting for them at their post on the east wall when they climbed the stairs of the guard station and emerged on the battlements.

"Jarlaxle," Pelgerrin exclaimed as soon as the drow got close. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing," Artemis said.

Pelgerrin turned his head towards Artemis. "Oh. Good morning, Entreri." He pointed at Jarlaxle. "Why is your friend wearing a patch if he does not have an injured eye?"

Jarlaxle lifted the eye patch, settled it over his other eye, and winked. "It's my secret."

"As long as you are well, my friend," Pelgerrin said, sounding puzzled. "It is all alright with me."

Jarlaxle bowed. "Glad to hear it."

"And are those new bracers?" Pelgerrin asked.

"They are," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis rolled his eyes. "Are you done with the interrogation?"

"I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable," Pelgerrin said. "I apologize."

"Don't," Artemis said. "You're hard enough to stomach as it is."

Jarlaxle burst out laughing and threw an arm around Artemis' shoulders. "What my friend means, Sir Whitehorse, is that he has gotten very little sleep last night. Forgive him, please."

"Of course," Pelgerrin said.

"Stop defusing everything I do," Artemis growled in Jarlaxle's ear.

"Then start behaving yourself," Jarlaxle murmured in return. Then he released Entreri and gave Lirilee a brilliant smile. "My dear! What a pleasant morning it is!"

Lirilee looked up at the sky. Her brow furrowed. "It is overcast."

"Nonsense," Jarlaxle said. "Your radiant visage lights a thousand summer skies."

Lirilee unconsciously clutched the neckline of her robe. She glanced at Pelgerrin, shifting uncomfortably.

Artemis gave Jarlaxle a smug smile.

Jarlaxle looked at Artemis quizzically. _What is her problem?_ He hand signaled.

_You are a pervert,_ Artemis gestured back. _Don't think she doesn't know it._

Jarlaxle frowned. _I am not a pervert._

_Scandalous, then,_ Artemis signaled. He smiled widely.

Jarlaxle pointedly turned away from him. "How are things for you, Biggrin?"

"Small," Artemis muttered.

Jarlaxle gave him a dirty look.

Their shift bored, irritated, and caused Entreri to sweat at different intervals. Not only did the giants not attack. The day was so quiet that not even a breath of wind stirred. He supposed one could call this the eye of the storm, but he hated that. He wanted storms to arrive as quickly as possible and bear down upon him, even if the raging winds and tearing rain threatened to engulf him.

At the end of the day, he was exhausted from the useless adrenaline and constantly being on his feet. As he collapsed on his bed, Jarlaxle chattered at him.

"Soon," Jarlaxle said. "Soon, my friend, everything will become clear."

"You're going to give me nightmares," Artemis said. His vision blurred as he stared up at the mercenary's visage.

Jarlaxle grinned at him. "Not nightmares, my dear Artemis, but pleasant dreams. Dreams of a better future. That is something to dream about, wouldn't you think?"

Artemis buried his face in his pillow. "The only better future I can think of is a future without you leering over my bed like a gargoyle the moment I am trying to sleep."

Jarlaxle tipped his hat to Entreri. His expression became more subdued. "Very well, then, my friend. I shall leave you to your peace. Sleep well."

Artemis Entreri uttered an unintelligible groan and burrowed down under his woolen covers, as much to escape from Jarlaxle as the cold. He heard the pronounced click of Jarlaxle's heels against the stone floor, headed for the stairway, and knew the pointed sound was for his benefit. He applied himself to his slumber and completed that mission with characteristic efficiency.

* * *

Jarlaxle walked the dark, cold streets of Nesme, passing underneath the street lamps that burned with murky, pungent light, in and out of the shadows with equal ease. The darkness, as it would so many other travelers, did not tug at his heart. He was uneasy not because of that, or the fear that such darkness concealed danger, for he alone on the streets of the war city could see as if he stood in broad daylight. Temptation made his heart heavy.

He wanted to be back in the warm, intimate confines of the upstairs bedroom, watching Entreri sleep, and he didn't know why. The thought of the assassin's face, hard lines relaxed by sleep, tugged at his chest. He imagined smoothing away Entreri's frown lines with gentle fingers and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to kick an alley cat running across his path. He hissed with frustration and clenched his jaw. His emotions were not obeying him, and he did not like that. Ordinarily, everything would be under control, just the way he liked his emotions: wrapped tightly like a gift box, silk ribbon shining bright and innocent to the outside world. This new emotion he felt was not lust, and it was not friendship, and he did not know what it was. Its very existence made him uncomfortable. He knew he was tempted, but not about what he was tempted. How could he keep himself from temptation if he knew not what he was tempted to do?

Jarlaxle made the decision then and there. He would drown this new emotion in his known cure-all: cold liquor and warm females.


	14. Chapter 14: Erecting Crystalline Towers

Excerpt from R.A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

"Perhaps we are being premature in our planning," Jarlaxle explained. "We know how to destroy the Crystal Shard now – likely that will be enough for us to use against the artifact to bend it to our will."

Entreri started to laugh.

"There is truth in what I say, and a gain to be had in following my reasoning," Jarlaxle insisted. "Crenshinibon began to manipulate me, no doubt, but now that we have determined that you, and not the artifact, are truly the master of your relationship, why must we rush ahead to destroy it? Why not determine first if you might control the item enough for our own gain?"

"Because if you know, beyond doubt, that you can destroy it, and the Crystal Shard knows that, as well, there may well be no need to destroy it," Entreri played along.

"Exactly!" said the now-excited dark elf.

"Because if you know you can destroy the crystalline tower, then there is no possible way that you will wind up with two crystalline towers," Entreri replied sarcastically, and the eager grin disappeared from Jarlaxle's black-skinned face in the blink of an astonished eye.

"It did it again," the drow remarked dryly.

"Same bait on the hook, and the Jarlaxle fish chomps even harder," Entreri replied.

"The cathedral is beautiful, I say," Jarlaxle remarked, looking away and pointedly changing the subject.

Entreri laughed again.

(316-317)

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Erecting Crystalline Towers

* * *

One morning, it was sad to say, Artemis Entreri woke up and found a brass bathtub in his room where the children's bed used to be. This was both sad and disconcerting. Sad because mentioning the bed, for whatever reason, was an easy way to make Jarlaxle sore at him. Disconcerting, because when he closed his eyes last night it wasn't there and when he opened his eyes this morning it was – meaning that Jarlaxle somehow managed to install it without waking him.

Jarlaxle was currently sitting in it and grinning like the madman Artemis was sure he was.

Artemis jumped out of bed, his shirt flying out behind him unbuttoned. His hair was mussed, taking away from his scolding expression, but he ignored that. "You think you can bathe here?"

"Why not?" Jarlaxle asked. He waved, revealing a bare arm that was nonetheless dry. "Come over here and inspect it yourself. I'm trying it out."

Artemis edged closer and looked down into the bathtub. To his relief, Jarlaxle was clothed from the waist down.

"I think it's the perfect size," Jarlaxle said. He leaned back with a contented sigh. The drow mercenary patted the rim of the bathtub. "Try it."

"I am the same size you are," Artemis said.

"You might like it differently than I do," Jarlaxle said. "If you wish, I could get a bigger one." He patted the rim of the tub again. "Come in."

"No," Artemis said. "I don't want a bigger tub. And why do I have to try it with you in it at the same time?"

Jarlaxle winked. "You might want to."

Artemis backpedaled towards his bed, reaching for his sword and buckling it to his belt. "I don't." He felt reasonably more secure in the face of his shock at the very suggestion. It planted an image in his head that filled him with alarm. Sitting across from Jarlaxle in a tub, Jarlaxle aiming a cat-like smile at him? What in the blazes?

Jarlaxle laughed. "You can't imagine a situation where that might become feasible?"

"No." Artemis stared at him. "You have taken leave of your senses."

"How?" Jarlaxle asked, putting on a reasonable expression.

Artemis pointed. "For one thing, there is no plumbing."

Jarlaxle laughed. "Magic. Say the word, and the tub fills. Say the other word, and the tub empties. It's perfect for a household with no piping."

Artemis rubbed the bridge of his nose. He should have guessed, it being Jarlaxle. He didn't ask where Jarlaxle got the tub. He at least had that much sense. "Whatever. You're going to bathe in the open? No curtains or screens?"

"Why not?" Jarlaxle asked. "We're both males."

"That's the point," Artemis hissed.

"We've seen each other naked before," Jarlaxle pointed out.

Artemis shook his head emphatically. "I haven't – I've tried to forget what glimpses I've seen."

Jarlaxle burst into hysterical giggles that went on so long he had to wipe away tears. When he finally had his breath, he gasped, "What is it that you find so disturbing about the male body? You are one!"

"Don't remind me."

"So you'd rather be female?" Jarlaxle asked.

"No. Not that, either," Artemis said.

An expression of incredulity creased Jarlaxle's brow. "Neuter? Artemis, I can't believe you."

"Why not?" Artemis clenched his fists. "That sexuality you embrace only complicates things. It is unnecessary. It turns people into baby-making factories or clouds their mind with useless physical needs."

Jarlaxle raised both eyebrows. "I can't help but think you exaggerate, Artemis."

Artemis crossed his arms and looked at Jarlaxle coldly. "Men make decisions based on their nether regions, and most women to the same. You wonder why humans are so stupid? That is why. They are too busy satisfying their urges of debauchery and primitive compulsions to produce offspring so they can experience parenthood to ask themselves why it really matters at all. Sex is slimy, and hateful, and brutal."

Jarlaxle opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"You can do what you like with the women you meet." He turned away. "I won't stop you. But don't ever make the mistake of thinking I envy you, for having something warm in your bed. It sickens me."

He grabbed his fur-lined cape and stormed down the stairs.

Jarlaxle sat in the bathtub, stunned. He felt as though he just pried the lid off a whole box of affairs. The way Artemis spoke it was like each word hardly had room for the next. He wondered what more the assassin had to say on the subject. Whatever it was, Jarlaxle was certain it would be just as disturbed as what he'd just heard.

So, it wasn't female-hate or male-hate, it was sex-hate. Artemis hated sex. The enormity of that blew Jarlaxle's mind. The mercenary couldn't wrap his head around the concept. How could one hate sex? In a world of self-destructive manipulators, liars, thieves, and killers, Jarlaxle had become accustomed to sex as the only real thing. One couldn't deny the reality of whom one had sex with. The act itself was a comforting realness in a web of deception. Sometimes, the only pleasure he got. Why would someone hate sex? Were they mad? More self-destructive than usual? Every adult had urges. What did Artemis Entreri do with them? In the time he'd been spying on the man, Jarlaxle never saw him take a partner, but part of the drow thought this was because Artemis knew he was being watched. Now Jarlaxle found out that it wasn't that at all. Artemis Entreri just didn't want a partner.

Jarlaxle leapt out the bathtub and followed Artemis downstairs. He grabbed his coat on the way out the door, as Entreri didn't display any signs of waiting for him to catch up.

* * *

Lirilee was bundled up in a red wool cape with the collar pulled up to her cheeks. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. It glinted with silver lights even in the overcast day.

Biggrin wore a ridiculous furry scarf.

Only Pelgerrin looked the same as he always did, hidden under his suit of armor. "It is a pensive sort of day, isn't it?" the paladin said.

Artemis snorted. He glanced over the wall of the city at the barren land below. "Now you're giving days feelings? I knew you were sensitive, but that seems a bit much."

Jarlaxle glanced at Artemis sharply.

"I merely meant it is the sort of day that makes men brood," Pelgerrin said, sounding both hurt and puzzled.

"Some men, maybe," Artemis said, "but I consider myself stronger than a few clouds darkening in what could be interpreted as human displeasure. I don't care what the clouds look like. I have a job to do."

Jarlaxle gave him an urgent look again.

Artemis ignored him.

"I applaud your strength of spirit," Pelgerrin said. "We shall surely need it against the giants." The paladin turned away, to look over the wall at the dark and tangled swamp.

Biggrin and Lirilee looked off into the distance also.

Artemis gestured violently in drow signal behind their backs. _Can you believe this male? What does he think he is?_

_A good-deed-doer_, Jarlaxle signaled back, hand lazy with ruefulness. Then he gestured sharply. _But you are doing no better._

_Better?_ Artemis repeated.

Jarlaxle knew he knew the signal, so he didn't explain. _Yes, better. You don't hold up to your principles any more than he does. So I suggest you stop striking out at him. We need him. He is one of many allies. _

Artemis gave him a furiously dark look, but Jarlaxle countered with a stony expression. The assassin ground his teeth and became cuttingly polite to the Pelgerrin for the rest of the day.

* * *

That evening around a table with their allies at The Lucky Clover, Artemis seriously entertained thoughts of murdering the paladin. He ran his fingers down the hilt of his dagger compulsively as he imagined all of the numerous scenarios in which he could overpower the man in the dark before the paladin reached his temporary lodging.

Jarlaxle, sitting to Artemis' left, could clearly see the assassin's twitching fingers. He glanced down at Artemis' hand often.

Their friends didn't notice, of course. Pelgerrin was too busy drinking his beer and talking happily to Biggrin about various forms of leisure they would engage in after the giants were defeated. Lirilee was listening with her chin cupped in her hand, an amused expression on her face.

"Your work will never be over," Artemis said.

Pelgerrin stopped in the act of bringing his mug to his lips, surprised. Biggrin stopped laughing. Lirilee's smile faded.

Jarlaxle alone had a smile pasted on his face.

"When you are done saving this city from giants, another city will be threatened. Perhaps by demons. Or orcs. And then another. Children will need to be saved. Wrongs will need putting right. Until you have finished doing everything there is to do on this realm, there is no rest for any paladin." Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Or am I wrong?"

Pelgerrin's expression was grave. "You are absolutely right. There is no rest for the just; only the wicked may sleep in their beds while the world rages on." He stood. "Excuse me. I must attend to something." He walked through the crowd and pushed through the door.

Artemis glanced at their remaining companions and found Lirilee staring at him. More than that. Her decisive frown and the dark glint in her eyes made it clear. She was angry, and disappointed.

"What?" he demanded.

Lirilee met his gaze without any fear or self-consciousness. He really hated that. She didn't even know him. Chin still cupped in her hand, she replied, "Why are you so bitter?"  
Artemis lifted a corner of his mouth in an empty smirk. The question secretly hit him in the heart. She'd surprised him. He gave her a steady gaze. "It would curdle your blood to know."

"Well, I'd like to know," Lirilee said. "So I can stop hating you."

Artemis stretched his smirk wider. "Don't bother."

"This is a cheery conversation," Jarlaxle broke in. They both looked at him. The drow mercenary leaned back inn his chair and stretched, a grin on his face. When he lowered his arms he put one around Artemis. "We have to get up early in the morning, so I think we will stop this little tiff now." He winked. "Before it gets out of hand."

Jarlaxle rose to his feet and somehow compelled Atremis to follow suit. Artemis told himself that Jarlaxle was not really dragging him out of the tavern, the dark elf mercenary was just…pulling him along in a direction he wanted to go anyway because he didn't want to stay and argue with Lirilee or that pipsqueak Biggrin.

The sense of unreality followed him all the way home, until Jarlaxle shut their front door behind him and instantly scowled. The mercenary paced in the dining room, in front of their barren table and empty chairs. "What are you thinking?" Jarlaxle shouted.

"I'm not one of your men," Artemis said. "I never was. I don't take kindly to lectures, _Captain_."

Jarlaxle paused, looked at him incredulously, and tossed up his hands. "I don't know why I bother!"

"I don't know, either," Artemis said.

"I don't know why I bother to make you look good," Jarlaxle said. "You stay silent, and when you speak, you are surly and rude and you make our companions uncomfortable. I can't work with you. You don't make a good team player."

Artemis snorted. "Team player?"

"Yes," Jarlaxle said. "To get ahead, you have to be a team player."

"In what?"

"What?"

"Get ahead in what?" Artemis asked, raising his voice.

"Life!" Jarlaxle snapped.

His expression hardened. He advanced on Jarlaxle, hand pointedly raised as if to draw his sword or hit Jarlaxle. "Rothè shit. I say rothè shit. You don't need these people –" He swept his hand across the air. "We don't need these people! We can do fine by ourselves! Better than if we had this gaggle of inexperienced adventurers guarding our backs."

"That's not the way life works," Jarlaxle said. He was once more perfectly calm. The mercenary wore a sad expression. "We need expendable people. That's a fundamental factor of combat."

"But we don't need to be friends with them," Artemis said.

"Is that what this is about?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Is what, what this is about?" Artemis demanded.

"My friends," Jarlaxle said. "Every time I have other people around me, you seem to hate them."

"You pick poorly," Artemis retorted. His face flooded with heat and he didn't know why.

"Maybe I do," Jarlaxle said. "I picked you."

Artemis let out an explosive breath as if it were knocked from his lungs. "You don't mean that."

Jarlaxle regarded him with calm, wise eyes. "I don't think you are in a position to tell me what I do and do not mean. Who is Artemis Entreri, and why does he care who I keep company with?"

Artemis opened his mouth prematurely and found he didn't have anything to say. The words simply wouldn't come to him like they normally would. Nothing came at all except useless stammers.

Jarlaxle turned towards the stairs. "You are jealous. Keep your jealousy in check, or I will be forced to reconsider where we stand."

He walked across the room to the stairs.

Artemis took a step after him. "Who are you?" the assassin called. Artemis' fists clenched in deep, nameless frustration. "If you're so clever, who are you, then?"

Jarlaxle turned to him with a little smile. "Your friend." Jarlaxle tipped his hat and walked up the stairs.

* * *

Jarlaxle, ever the diplomat, tried his best to keep everyone amused on their long, uneventful patrol. Some of the things he did, such as telling jokes about orcs, goblins, and other lesser races and encouraging his companions to think of their own, Artemis grudgingly appreciated. The jokes were an unusual way to relieve the tension. However, other things, such as what Jarlaxle did this morning, Artemis did not appreciate.

"Tell me more about Torm," Jarlaxle said to Pelgerrin. He grinned broadly and winked at Entreri with his visible eye, knowing the subject would infuriate the assassin.

The request caught the paladin off guard. "What would you like to know?"

"How do you worship him?" Jarlaxle asked. "What ceremonies do you do to make sure he heeds your prayers? How do you keep his favor?" The mercenary held his hands out palm up. "Where I am from, one's deity needs to be actively appeased."

"It is no different here," Pelgerrin said. "Our gods must know we are trying in order to be satisfied. They require several basic needs."

_This is turning my stomach. _Artemis scowled, beyond words that would have the scathing effect he desired.

Pelgerrin held up a finger. "The first is being prayed to. They must know we respect, and we need them."

"Sounds childish," Artemis muttered.

"Not at all," Pelgerrin said earnestly. "Who does not need appreciation? And who does not deserve it? Especially among the gods – the very creators of our being."

"They didn't do such a good job, if you ask me," Artemis said.

"I believe I was asking Sir Whitehorse," Jarlaxle said smilingly. Nonetheless, his smile did not reach his eyes.

Artemis uneasily backed down at the implicit threat.

"I have long been interested in songs," Jarlaxle said to Pelgerrin.

The paladin paused, and then relaxed. "Is that so?"

"Is song a way to worship the gods?" Jarlaxle asked. "I assume it would be the same as prayer."

"Not necessarily," Pelgerrin said, "but often, yes."

"Yes?" Jarlaxle's smile truly lit up.

"Why do you ask?" Pelgerrin asked. "Do you wish to hear a song of Torm?"

Jarlaxle clapped his hands together and laughed. "Can you sing? I would be deeply interested to hear one of your traditional hymns to Torm."

Artemis ground his teeth. "Jarlaxle…"

Jarlaxle turned to him with a slightly surprised expression. "Hush, Artemis. Pelgerrin is about to sing a hymn."

Artemis clenched his hands into fists at his sides, but he somehow managed to remain silent.

"I'll do my best," Pelgerrin said, sounding puzzled. "I am no songstress."

"Who among us is?" Jarlaxle said easily. "Please, give us your song. It would surely brighten this dreary day."

"Very well." The paladin paused, lowering his head as if in thought.

Artemis turned sharply away. _I'm not listening to this._

Lirilee glanced at him questioningly. "What is your problem?"

"Leave me alone. I am not in the mood for talking."

"When are you?" Lirilee demanded.

Jarlaxle shushed her.

She gaped at him, cheeks coloring, and fell silent.

Pelgerrin sang in a deep baritone. He finished a few lines, then stopped. "The rest is rather long," he said apologetically. "I would probably go hoarse from trying."

"Perhaps if you know a smaller one, you might teach me," Jarlaxle said.

"You wish to learn a hymn of Torm?"

"Why not?" Jarlaxle shrugged. He gave Pelgerrin a sly grin. "It might go a ways towards converting me. You never know until you try."

"Then it is my duty," Pelgerrin said gravely. "And my honor."

* * *

Artemis walked to the guard station fourteen feet away. He approached a guard armed with a halberd. "Do you have any water?"

"Always," the puzzled guard said. "In case of fire."

"May I have it?"

"Sure." The guard went into the station armory and brought out a wooden bucket. "You'll have to break the ice off the top…"

Artemis gestured. "Would you?"

The guard brought down the butt of his halberd and broke the ice. It was only a quarter of an inch thick and broke easily.

"Thank you," Artemis said. "It's for a good cause."

"Any time," the guard said. "It isn't as if we need it in this weather." He looked dubiously at the storm clouds.

"Then may I not worry about replacing its contents?" Artemis asked.

The guard shrugged. "Sure. I can do that. Just bring the bucket back."

Artemis gave him a little bow. "Much obliged."

The assassin carried the bucket back to the circle of adventurers. He watched Jarlaxle sing for a moment. Then, when Jarlaxle made a particularly dramatic flourish, he splashed the icy water in Jarlaxle's face.

Jarlaxle coughed and spluttered. "Artemis? What –"

"For the smell," Artemis said.

"I sing beautifully!" Jarlaxle choked and wiped off his face with his sleeve. "That was cold." He sniffled. "Yes. Extremely icy water, Artemis. Not clever at all."

Artemis shrugged. "It got the job done. At least I won't have to listen to your singing anymore if you have laryngitis."

Jarlaxle shook as much of the cold water off his clothing as he could – which was some, due to the wool and fur.

Entreri turned to give the bucket back, and found himself facing the large, gleaming visage of their company's paladin. He didn't have to see the man's face to know Pelgerrin bore down on him with a glare. "You could have given him pneumonia!"

Artemis scoffed. "He is as strong as an ox."

"The man did nothing wrong," Pelgerrin said. "His song was charming."

"And as annoying as gnat," Artemis said.

"No," Pelgerrin retorted. "As a matter of fact, he is not. Jarlaxle as been nothing but kind, polite, helpful, and a beacon of good cheer throughout this crisis. Unlike some people I could name."

Artemis sneered. "So, you finally catch on."

Pelgerrin rocked back on his heels. "Why, Entreri? Why do you seem to hate us so much?"

"Because I do, that's why." Artemis brushed past him, purposefully bumping the taller man with his shoulder. He had to put almost all of his weight into it, but it was still satisfying to hear the paladin stumble back a step.

Pelgerrin lifted his visor to watch the assassin in dismay.

Jarlaxle came up beside him. "He recently lost his wife and child," the drow whispered.

Pelgerrin looked down at him. "Oh." He turned back to Entreri, observing the assassin return the bucket to the guard station, but his mystified expression cleared.

"Orcs," Jarlaxle said. "Very tragic."

"Mmn," Pelgerrin said.

"Won't talk about it," Jarlaxle said. "Even to me. Pretends it doesn't exist."

Artemis rejoined them. "What are you whispering about?" He glared at Jarlaxle. "Planning some other way to disturb my peace with your paladin pal?"

Jarlaxle glanced at Pelgerrin. "No. Nothing like that."

Pelgerrin quickly got the message. He bowed to Entreri stiffly. "I am sorry that our levity somehow offended you. Please let me assure you that was not my intention."

Artemis stared at the paladin. Then he looked to Jarlaxle, but Jarlaxle turned away towards the view with an innocent smile.

"Excuse me," Pelgerrin said. He walked over to join Lirilee and Biggrin. From his grave demeanor and his gesturing, it was obvious he related something of great import. Lirilee looked surprised. In fact, she seemed to gasp, and one of her pale hands flew to cover her mouth. Biggrin shook his head, brows knitted sorrowfully.

The assassin approached Jarlaxle. The mercenary now stood at the edge of the wall and looked over the moor with his hands clasped behind his back.

"What did you say?" Artemis asked, coming up beside him.

Jarlaxle shrugged. He smiled. "That is for me to know, and you to find out." His smile broadened. "I am sure you will."

"Oh, dear gods."

Jarlaxle started chuckling. It quickly evolved into maniacal laughter. He only stopped when he was positively tuckered out, leaning against one of the crenellations.

"Are you done?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle glanced at him, gasping for air. "You should have stopped me before I got to that point."

Artemis gave him a deadpan look. "I was hoping you'd hurt yourself."

* * *

Artemis waited for the bomb to drop over dinner, but it didn't. They all sat around the same small table in the crowded tavern, elbows rubbing together every time they took a bite of food, and no one said anything. And worst of all, any time he tried to make eye contact with anyone besides Jarlaxle, they quickly looked away from him. He didn't enjoy looking at Jarlaxle, either, because every time he did the mercenary's grin grew wider and the drow started shaking with silent laughter.

When they got home and started a fire upstairs to warm things up, Artemis drew his sword and pointed it at Jarlaxle. "I've had enough. We spar. I win, and you tell me what trick you've played."

"You won't win," Jarlaxle said, still grinning. He shrugged, seeming totally self-assured. "With my magical repertoire intact, your edge is gone."

"Oh, is that what you think?" Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Here I thought you won because my heart was empty."

"No, that's what Drizzt thinks," Jarlaxle said easily.

They circled each other slowly. Jarlaxle threw down his heavy fur-lined cloak and kicked off his boots. Artemis threw off his own cloak, and his tunic, leaving himself bare-chested.

Artemis feinted, lunging and quickly steeping back. Jarlaxle didn't take the bait. "What's the difference between you and Drizzt? You're both drow."

Their eyes locked. "I am bald," Jarlaxle said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"What else distinguishes you?" Artemis asked. He seemed to be genuinely mulling this over. "You both like to have fun at my expense." He committed to a lunge and snapped his arm in a wide slash. Jarlaxle jumped back, easily avoiding it. They resumed circling.

Jarlaxle raised an index finger. "Ah, but I am your friend."

"How much of a friend are you?"

"Enough of one."

Artemis stroked his chin, never lowering the sword in his other hand. "Enough of one…How much is that? I wonder."

"Enough to know you need some entertainment," Jarlaxle said. He kept his hands open, flexing them. "Just like I do. To pass these dreary days. Until the giants arrive."

"Ah, yes," Entreri said. "The giants." He made another feint. "I wonder if they were really a solution to my problems at all."

"No," Jarlaxle said. His frank tone shone through his smile. "Not at all." Suddenly, a dagger shot out of his bracer, and he caught it. "Perhaps they did not attack yet to give you time to realize that."

Artemis lunged forward again, and this time he did not hold back.

They ended the fight in a draw. Both of them bent over nearly double, breathing heavily. Sweat glistened on Artemis' bare torso. A drop of perspiration dripped from his nose. Artemis collapsed for a moment on the floor, not even wincing at the hard impact. The stones were still cold, and they felt good against his skin. "We need to do this more often."

Jarlaxle had a sudden flash of thought that the release of tension and Artemis' sprawled body was exactly as if they'd had sex. He froze, shocked, and wiped the thought from his mind as quickly as he could. He didn't need to have those thoughts in front of Artemis. It was wrong. Moreover, if his body reacted, he would be humiliated by the assassin's questions. Maybe even found out, which would end everything right here. In his death. Jarlaxle turned on his heel. "I need some cold water." As he spoke, he realized that was exactly what he needed. That would solve everything. His mind's traitorous innuendo, their sweaty condition…

He hopped down the stairs, not catching Artemis' puzzled look.

_That is the second time he has left right after_, Artemis thought. Perhaps he made the mercenary uncomfortable by being such a close opponent. But no – not when Jarlaxle had his old weapons back. What then?

Jarlaxle splashed himself with cold water in the kitchen, positioning himself near the floor drain so that the water wouldn't pool on the floor. But even as he felt the uncomfortable stickiness of sparring sweat wash off his body and the icy temperature numb his skin, his mind went over Artemis' words. We should do this more often. The assassin's husky, out of breath voice overlaid his previous sex observation. Until…

Jarlaxle let out a gasp and looked down at himself. He needed to get out of the house, now. He couldn't control this. Frustration welled up in him, but at the same time, that only buoyed his body's arousal, as if the heat of his anger stoked hot coals.

Jarlaxle pulled on his clothing hastily, grabbed a spare cloak hanging by the door, and ran out into the night. He banged the door behind him.

* * *

Mila was at her previous haunt.

* * *

Two weeks after their arrival in Nesmé the clouds started to shed little dustings of snow every night, leaving it on the town like a coat of sugar for people to wake up to.

Artemis Entreri knew things had somehow gone awry when he opened the door to their temporary house after a long shift with something like affection. The click of the lock when he turned the key sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, and when he opened the door, gazing upon the warmly lit dining room filled him with a sense of comfort.

He took off his thick wool cloak and dropped it on the floor next to his – no, a chair. Artemis turned to Jarlaxle with a glare. The mercenary dusted snow off the brim of his purple hat, stamped his feet, and came in side, closing the door behind him.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Artemis demanded.

Jarlaxle looked at him with an expression of mild surprise. "Why, until the giants are defeated. Why do you ask? Don't you like it here?" He gestured. "Haven't I made this uncompromising dwelling into a comfortable abode?"

Artemis gritted his teeth. "You have."

Jarlaxle beamed.

"That is precisely my point," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle's smile deflated.

The assassin made a frustrated gesture with both hands. "Why have you made this into anything other than what it was?"

"So we can be comfortable while we –"

"But what is the point?" Artemis interrupted. "We aren't staying. This isn't our home. No one…" His throat tightened. "No one even knows where we are. Who we are!" What upset him so much? He didn't know.

"We need a home," Jarlaxle said gently. He smiled at Artemis as if he knew why the assassin's feelings were in turmoil. "Good places are hard to find, and we have wandered far from your normal home. Someday we will go back. I promise. But until then…where else can we stay, that people will allow us?" He gestured. "This house has been given to us, in exchange for our services against the giants. If we so desire it, we can probably stay here on the strength of our deeds after the giants have been defeated. No more worrying about paying the rent at some shoddy inn. You must admit it: it's practical."

Artemis found himself nodding reluctantly. It was practical. He did feel the expense grate at him, and at the same time, sleeping in the wilderness when he could sleep in a real bed only made him angrier. He liked beds. His days of childish rebellion against such things as beds and baths and food were over. He was forty-three years old. "Alright. We can stay. For a while." He turned away, so that he didn't have to see Jarlaxle's grin of victory. "How about dinner?"

"We had dinner," Jarlaxle said. "With the party. At our favorite watering hole."

"Fish," Artemis said. "I puked in a gutter on the way home."

Jarlaxle chuckled.

"I want some real food," Artemis said.

Only Jarlaxle noticed how plaintive the assassin sounded. "Of course, my friend. What would you prefer? Chicken, or steak? Or perhaps a nice pork chop, eh?"

"Pie," Artemis said. "I have a hankering for kidney pie."

"Pie it is, then." Jarlaxle nodded. He walked to the kitchen and opened a cupboard. He pulled out a steaming hot pie and placed it on the counter. He'd enchanted the cupboards to bring them what they asked for – within reason, of course. A simple kind of spell. He used it all the time in his office at Bregan D'aerthe headquarters.

Jarlaxle sniffed. "Curious. I've never had kidney pie before. What does it taste like?"

"Kidney," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle gave him a sidelong glance.

"If you bother me once more about it instead of taking a bite like a normal person would," Artemis said, "I am going to carve out one of your own kidneys to give you a taste."

"I understand," Jarlaxle said. He took a fork from the cutlery drawer and stabbed into the pie, bringing forth a steaming chunk of soft meat and gravy. He ate it, burning his tongue in the process. "Interesting," he said, ignoring the sensation of his burnt tongue. "It tastes a little like…liver. Only…"

"Not?" Artemis said mildly. "Bring it in here, if you don't mind."

Jarlaxle brought the pie into the dining room and set it on the table between them.

Artemis had already gotten a pair of plates from the glass-faced cabinet Jarlaxle picked up somewhere last week.

"Did you eat kidney pie often?" Jarlaxle asked.

"When?" Artemis carved a slice of pie and set it on his plate.

"In Calimport," Jarlaxle said.

"No, not really."

Jarlaxle frowned and dropped the subject. Artemis presented him with a puzzle, and the assassin knew it. His friend was probably testing his capacity for tact. He could take it with a civil face. "How is the pie?"

Artemis stopped with the fork full of kidney pie halfway to his mouth and glared. "Do you mind?"

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Go on. I'm sorry."

Artemis eyed him warily. "You are ridiculously insincere." He took his bite of kidney pie, chewed it, and swallowed it. "It is good. It is exactly as I expected it to be."

"Thank you," Jarlaxle said. He tipped his hat to the assassin.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "You didn't make it."

Jarlaxle grinned from ear to ear. "But it is my enchantment."

Artemis rolled his eyes. "Unless you created the enchantment, you have no right to brag."

"I did," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis paused. "Did you?"

Jarlaxle shrugged gracefully. "Well, Kimmuriel did, but he did so at my orders. In instructed him. I had him take an old spell and convert it into this one: the cabinet spell. Originally, it was a djinn."

"What was?" Artemis looked at him incredulously.

Jarlaxle gestured. "A djinn would come to lay a feast at your feet if you rang a bell. I had our dear psionicist figure out why the djinn responded to the bell, and had him transfer the whole thing to a cabinet so the creature wouldn't have to go anywhere. Convenient for both parties, don't you think? We don't have to see the djinn, and the djinn doesn't have to leave his home plane to provide his services. He can respond to requests without having to leave home, and the whole process is cut in half." Jarlaxle wagged a finger. "And it's more economical. I mean, why would you have an entire feast if what you really want is one kidney pie?"

Artemis stared at him. "You talk too much." That being said, he ate the rest of his pie and gave himself another helping. Jarlaxle talked entirely too much about everything, not just magical inventions he had no interest in. He knew from the depths of his soul that Jarlaxle probably pulled his strings on purpose because the drow, too, was bored. That knowledge didn't help him withstand the sheer anger that washed over him in red waves. If he could have spat like a cobra at Jarlaxle, he would have, and gladly.

Entreri stabbed his second helping of kidney pie with the force he truly reserved for the drow's left eyeball. He imagined plunging his utensil into Jarlaxle's unprotected eye and pulling it out, performing a similar maneuver on his pie with a piece of beef kidney.

_You have standards? Well, so do I. I have to know what my partners are offering me and how expendable they are as a result. If I can find a means to live without you, I will. Make no mistakes about that. No amount of camaraderie, or friendship, or 'being alike' can sway me. _

He narrowed his eyes at Jarlaxle. _And I know you are the same way. So why do you want me around, especially if I don't live up to your standards?_

That was Entreri's main dilemma. He couldn't answer the question. If his life depended on it, he would see his chances of survival slip away. The thought dismayed him. An insubstantial, undefined relationship with this centuries old drow mercenary couldn't hold the weight of his anxiety in a life or death situation. He would almost assuredly die. He had to be prepared for that happening. If he were in true danger, he would need to save himself. Like always.

And why was he so disappointed? The question stumped him for a minute, but he remembered the things he'd learned about himself in the quiet, cinnamon scented rooms of _The Copper Ante_ under Dwahvel's wise tutelage. He craved, more than anything else, to be equal with someone. Not to best them, as he had tried with Drizzt out of a sense of inadequacy – because the moment he did so, even if he was not responsible for the victory, he felt grief rip apart his chest with sharp talons. And of course, he could not stand to be inferior. He could not trust another's leadership, even that of the gods. He had been equal to Jarlaxle…for a short time, they had been precisely matched.

Entreri resisted the urge to sigh. For once, even his anger could not defeat an opponent, nor his opponent's cleverness defeat him. That sparring match before Jarlaxle regained his magical equipment, he now realized, had been the most perfect moment of his entire life. The equality was not an illusion, as it had been with Drizzt. This equality had been real. He could feel it in his fingertips. The memory tingled there, the way they fought against each other. Then the letdown the day after, when Jarlaxle regained his hold. Yes, that was it, really. Jarlaxle's hold over him. The mercenary was the one with enough magical power to annihilate him instantly, and the drow's power kept him in place as the lesser partner.

Artemis Entreri mulled over his words to himself. He considered speaking if his logic sounded powerful enough to overwhelm resistance from Jarlaxle. _They say actions speak louder than words. But enough words drown out any actions – a cacophony of useless, misleading words. Neither you nor I have been honest men. That is not what we are. But we have been honest with each other – or at least let down our guard enough to come close. When you were close to honest with me, I felt myself becoming…in love with you. Something about you, I found myself falling in love with. Then you pull away, and I don't know what to think or how to feel. Should I wait for the other person to come back? The one I started to fall in love with? Or should I let myself be disappointed, because that person is not coming back, because that person was an illusion brought about by the circumstances? You can say that we are friends, and you can say that you will make me a home alongside you. You can give me all the presents you want. But if you don't come out and say what it is you feel about me, I'm never going to know. I'm never going to know how I should feel about you._ Artemis grimaced. Wherever this emotional crap came from, this was not going to help him convince Jarlaxle to be truthful. His words sounded like nothing more than childish whining.

The drow mercenary watched Entreri . Artemis stared at him, and he didn't know how to read the expression on the man's face. This went on for quite a while. He wondered what the assassin could possibly have to think about that was that hard.

Jarlaxle broke the silence. "You know, I think I could like kidney pie, Artemis."

Artemis parried Jarlaxle's fork as the drow reached across the table, tines aimed for golden, flaky crust. "Get your own, then."

Jarlaxle's laugh was lost in the sudden blare of a horn.

They both leapt up from the table, chairs and silverware forgotten.

An instant later someone banged on the door. "Giants!" the man's voice yelled from the other side. "The giants are here!"

Jarlaxle and Artemis ran to the door. Artemis flung it open, almost flattening Jarlaxle behind it, but the moment was forgotten to both of them as soon as they saw the chaos on the street. Men and women ran everywhere, alike only in their garb as adventurers. Guards all around held lit torches, banging on the doors of all the houses and repeating a cry identical to the one that roused them from their seats.


	15. Chapter 15: Protecting the Despised

Excerpted from R.A. Salvatore's Servant of the Shard:

"Always I seem doomed to protect those I most despise," Entreri whispered to Danica, motioning with his hand for the woman to shift over to the side.

The dark elves broke ranks. One moved to square off against Danica, and Berg'inyon and one other headed for the assassin. Berg'inyon waved his companion aside.

"Kill the woman, and quickly," he said in the drow tongue. "I wish to try this one alone."

(341-342)

**Chapter 15**

Protecting the Despised

* * *

They ran out onto the street, following the trail of adventurers and torch-bearing guards. A heavy thudding pulsed in the distance. At first, Artemis thought it was the sound of war drums calling people to arms. However, when he voiced that observation, Jarlaxle corrected him. "The giants are hurling rocks at the wall. It is elementary hill giant tactics. When we reach close enough, they will abandon their rocks and take up their clubs. We must be careful. They have quite a bit of reach on us."

One thought kept running through Artemis' mind: Why did the giants have to show up now? It seemed that nothing he wanted ever happened. But why was he surprised? The gods never had mercy on him.

They only stayed with the crowd for a few blocks, however, before Jarlaxle slipped away from herding guards and ducked down an alleyway. Artemis did the same, looking at Jarlaxle questioningly.

"We need not follow the same path they are taking," Jarlaxle said. "We will find our own way." He turned and walked down the alley into unpunctuated darkness. He paused for a moment and laid his hand on the lid of a garbage can, as if idly interested.

"Why?" Artemis asked. He edged further into the shadows but did not follow. He only concealed himself more completely from the road.

Jarlaxle looked up at him with a startled expression. "I thought you would be content not to follow the crowd." He gestured. "Does this not suit you?"

He rounded a corner before Artemis could form a satisfactory reply. The assassin followed him and watched in disbelief as Jarlaxle strolled down the street and gazed at the frost and snow along the sides of the buildings, twinkling in pungent street lights, as though nothing better to do presented itself.

"The giants are coming," Artemis said, struggling with his inarticulate sense of anger and helplessness.

"The giants have come," Jarlaxle corrected.

"Then act like it!"

"I am," Jarlaxle said. "Come. If we talk too long, we will miss the beginning."

"This isn't a play, Jarlaxle! We are supposed to be in this battle!"

"For what purpose?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis stared at him.

"This is my first chance to observe," Jarlaxle said. He waved an index finger. "Observation is vital, wouldn't you say?"

"I'd say saving people's lives is vital!" Entreri snapped. "For once that is what we are contracted to do –"

Jarlaxle held up his hands. "And that is what I am doing."

"You're going to stand here and watch as the giants destroy it all!"

"Observe," Jarlaxle corrected. "You are speaking as though all I am going to do is watch for my own amusement. Observation is a keen computation of what the villagers are doing right and what they are doing wrong. I shall mark carefully their weaknesses and think of solutions so that I can make myself useful." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyone can fight, Artemis." He tapped his forehead. "It takes a true leader to think before he enters. All I would do now is muddy the waters. How will I be able to make the observations necessary when I am in the middle of it? No, I shall not interfere this time, but prepare for next time, when I can be of some help."

"You're a bastard," Artemis said. "A bloody cold bastard."

Jarlaxle sighed. "Really, Artemis. What makes this different from anything I have done before? I am marking the most practical course, and I am taking it."

"You're a coward," Artemis said. "You're hanging back, and you're going to let them all be killed. Do you really care about Torm's paladin, about Mystra's mage and the inventor so little? I can tell you what that fool Torm follower is going to do. He is going to charge right in there and get himself killed – unless you keep him back! But you don't care, do you? You just use people."

Jarlaxle stared at him and enunciated carefully. "I am not doing anything differently than I ever did before. If you have a problem with the way my leadership operates, it is because you yourself are different, not that I have changed."

"You don't care about anyone, do you?" Artemis exclaimed. He turned on his heel and stormed down the street.

"Artemis, please be careful," Jarlaxle said. "It will serve our purposes far better if you choose to be sub-par, just this once."

Artemis flicked his wrist without turning around or pausing. His fingers formed a rude gesture in Drow hand sign. Then he was gone.

Jarlaxle shook his head, amused and exasperated.

He found a good rooftop to watch the proceedings from, hopping from roof to roof until he could overlook the collecting crowd of adventurers and citizens on the street below. Already he could tell them that approach was all wrong. Why should they gather in one place? To let the giants step on them and make jam of them? Ridiculous.

_Humans are like rothè,_ he thought. _Mindless herd animals. No wonder it is so hard to keep them safe._

Only one person had ever caused him to recalculate his assessment, but that human had problems of his own. Jarlaxle ran his mind back over their conversation. He ignored the thudding boom in his ears of the giants hurling boulders against the city's wall.

To begin with, he was amused because Artemis did that which he solidly professed never to do, which was extend his hand to help others, and he was exasperated, because of course Artemis Entreri specialized in finding the worst time to act. Jarlaxle understood by now that Artemis was partly manipulated like a slippery stone. Exert pressure and he shoots out in the direction least desirable to his manipulator. Jarlaxle partly remedied this by appearing to have an alternate agenda to the one he actually possessed, but the finer points of handling the assassin were still, regrettably, beyond him. He would need another decade at least before he could be assured of success at any time.

Case in point: he accounted for Entreri's need for perfection and seriousness when he planned to foolishly gather friendships among their peers, thinking perhaps the assassin would place himself with his fellow humans in confiding that 'Jarlaxle is not to be trusted,' or some other homily. Instead, he'd angered Artemis beyond reason because the assassin saw him as showing off his effortless people managing skills.

Or tonight. Artemis wasn't angry with him for being selfish. He'd always been selfish, as any reasonable person is, and most of the time Artemis Entreri admired that trait. He hadn't changed. What changed was Entreri's mood. Artemis came closest to talking about what he really thought when he declared Jarlaxle didn't care about anyone. Jarlaxle played a complicated role of late in Artemis' life. Artemis' anger was all part of the process of getting the human to open up to people. Jarlaxle wanted him to be aware that he could depend on others, that he did not have to be bottled up, but the drow mercenary couldn't offer him any more than that.

Jarlaxle fully recognized a neediness in the assassin, and he was wary of it. He couldn't, nor did he want to, fulfill those needs he saw in Artemis Entreri. There wasn't anything wrong with that stance, and he sincerely hoped Artemis would in time turn to his fellow humans for that level of emotional bonding.

A terrible sound signaled that the time for contemplation was over. A ripping sound like a cry of pain from the ocean split the air. For a moment, nothing happened, but Jarlaxle could see the fatal crack in the wall with his keen vision. Then, groaning and grinding, the wall shifted, slow and ponderous, like a behemoth.

The giants outside the wall roared. An electric tingle shot through Jarlaxle's skin in spite of himself. "Here they come," he murmured.

Chunks of stone and mortar burst from the wall. A giant bulled through, swinging his wooden club with wild abandon. The top of his head was the same height as the two story buildings around him, each leg as big around as an elephant. Corded muscle bulged under his bronze skin. He wore nothing but a fur loincloth made out of several bears.

Jarlaxle could only imagine the view from down below. Even for him the image was disturbing. He was grateful for his high perch.

The drow mercenary noted that some people had been crushed by pieces of the falling wall, and still more were pulped like insects underneath the giant's immense feet.

This leader giant glared around him and set to work bashing his club against the buildings in his way.

The far smaller guards and adventurers swarmed around him, regrouping. Like an ant's nest, the group acquired a group character from this distance. Reacting angrily to the giant's intrusion, the swarm stung. Jarlaxle watched the flashes of magic and the undulating mass of fighters.

The giant reacted like any stung beast and swatted away people left and right with his club. For all the organization of Nesme's leaders in day-to-day life, the moment a giant actually attacked all strategy fell apart. The adventurers operated on pure mob mentality.

Jarlaxle shook his head.

Screams echoed off the buildings as the giant managed to rip the top story off the building he preyed on. With self-satisfied snuffling, the giant kicked the bottom story repeatedly until the walls all broke off.

Jarlaxle was distracted by a glowing speck of a person out of the corner of his heat vision. Apart from the others, this person climbed a building nearby to the giant.

A grin spread across Jarlaxle's face. It was Artemis Entreri.

The assassin reached the top of the building without detection. The combatants on the street distracted the giant.

He dropped onto the giant's shoulders like a flea, sword drawn. Entreri stabbed the giant in the neck, burying his sword to the hilt, and yanked his blade out. He jumped back to the roof of the building.

The giant fell like a redwood, its spinal cord severed. The crowd scrambled out of the way, except for a couple of unfortunate klutzes.

Jarlaxle laughed. That was pure Entreri. Too impatient with others, he went straight to the solution himself.

The fallen giant let out pitiful sounding bellows. He was paralyzed, but still fully alive, and alarmed at his sudden change in mobility. An armored man plunged a sword through the giant's eye, burying his arm up to the elbow and drenching himself and half a dozen others in steaming ichor. The giant fell silent.

This giant was followed by two others. Together, they crowded into the space between the crumbling wall and the buildings. The other two giants were similarly naked except for loincloths. The one on the left wore one of wolf pelts, and the giant on the right of deer skins.

The giants wasted no time in trying to eradicate every small person they saw around them, enraged at their companion's death.

The crowd understandably retreated, running back through the streets where the giants could not follow immediately.

Jarlaxle realized he'd lost track of Artemis again. He couldn't find Entreri's lightning bug glow.

He scanned the buildings he could see, a leap of fear in his chest. No Entreri.

Jarlaxle ran across the rooftops. Where was he? Where did he go?

* * *

Artemis no sooner sheathed his sword than he recognized someone in the crowd of people below. Even from two stories, he could tell the distinctive long dark hair, fur collar, and blue robe in the glow of the arcane light that surrounded her. Ghostly sigils rippled in the air around her, visible signs of protection spells.

Recognizing Lirilee, the heavily armored figure beside her was instantly recognizable as Pelgerrin Whitehorse.

As soon as he made the connection, the thought of telling them of Jarlaxle's true colors crossed his mind. At least he would get some satisfaction from them, shattering their idealistic view of the drow mercenary. He could prove a most pertinent point by sticking with them through this battle and then telling them he despised them.

Artemis climbed down over the edge of the flat roof, his form in shadow in the alley behind the mage and the paladin.

Halfway down, he heard the thunder of the crowd's gasp. He dropped, immediately expecting more giants, and absorbed the shock with a roll. On his feet in an instant, he ran out to the main street and saw the two enormous figures charging.

Artemis turned to snap instructions and found that everyone was running. _Fools! They will all be crushed when the giants smash the buildings to get to them! _

He sprinted to catch up to the mage and her paladin companion. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Pelgerrin turned sharply to look over his shoulder while he ran. "Entreri!"

"Don't just run away!" Artemis snapped. "Circle back around the get behind them. This is what they expect you to do."

"That's easy for you to say," Lirilee said. She was a little breathless.

"I don't know what you are thinking," Artemis said coldly. "You are like a lantern with those spells about you."

"It's called being safe!"

"There is nothing safe about being a beacon during a fight!"

Pelgerrin said, "Please, don't fight! We have enough to fight."

Artemis yanked them both aside with difficulty, hauling them into a side alley. "Think. Use your heads. Keep in mind that these running people can be our distraction. The giants are going to smash buildings in a linear path, clearing the way for other giants. Get to the side of them and attack."

"With what army?" Lirilee asked indignantly.

Artemis glanced at her. "Fine. Don't go. I'm not wasting any more time." He slipped out of the alley and crossed over into another, weaving his way back towards the giants, following his own plan.

"Artemis!" Pelgerrin called.

"Come or don't come!" Artemis yelled back. "I can see through your charade even if no one else can! Tyr! Torm! Deneir! They're all excuses to do what you want! You're a pretender like everyone else!"

Adrenaline fueled him as he ran. Thoughts – memories – raced through his mind.

He didn't care if he had to kill every giant by himself. So what? This situation proved he was right. He was always alone. Jarlaxle, Pelgerrin. Countless others. When the moment was convenient, they abandoned him. Why had he even tried? Truly doing the right thing, without aggrandizement or fanfare, was less popular than being an assassin.

* * *

Jarlaxle skidded to a halt and turned his head. Incredibly, just as he'd lost hope he saw a solitary person running the other way, down the cleared streets back towards the giants. He knew in an instant that was Artemis Entreri. Only his friend could have the spur of the moment gumption to turn around and launch a solitary attack.

The drow mercenary flew silently over the rooftops, following Entreri like a shadow.

* * *

The giants, as the assassin predicted, were focused on clearing a straight pathway through the city. It was slow going. In an odd way, they were like farmers clearing out unwanted brush. They'd leveled a path about three buildings deep so far. Since other structures on either side of the giants were left standing, it was easy for him to hide.

He carefully positioned himself in an alley behind one of the giants and crouched in the slushy snow. If he were working all by himself, could he risk slashing at the giant's ankles and trust that he could run fast enough, or should he risk being seen and possibly incapacitate a giant more quickly?

A shout broke his concentration.

"For Torm!"

The giant Artemis was watching stopped for a moment. He froze with his club half raised and watched the absurd sight of a creature much tinier than him charge him.

Artemis froze as well. Then he saw the giant's muscles bunch in anticipation and barreled down the street to outrace the giant's club. He ran between the giant's wide-planted legs and felt the rush of wind behind him. He heard the sharp knell of mortar and stone breaking loose.

Pelgerrin ran, but he knew the paladin wasn't fast enough, couldn't go fast enough in his heavy armor.

Artemis slammed into the paladin and shoved with all his might. Pelgerrin cried out. The bruising collision dazed him and he felt his center of balance swing out. He fell.

Pelgerrin fell with a clatter on the street around the side of the building, sheltered by the intact wall.

Artemis scrambled to his feet on the slick street and made a desperate dive, but he knew he wasn't going to make it.

He made the mistake of looking. Misshapen man-made boulders hurtled towards him. At the same moment as he hit the ground the first boulder came down on him, crushing his leg underneath it. He screamed in pain.

The moment before he blacked out he saw a blur radiating all the colors of the rainbow swooping down into the fray, knocking aside chunks of the crumbling building like clumps of dirt.

* * *

Artemis woke to the aurora light of Jarlaxle's healing orb over him and the tingling in his crushed leg. He was warm, and he was lying on some hard surface. His clothing clung to him in a slightly damp way that led him to believe it had dried out slowly against his skin over the period of about an hour.

"The shock of shattering your leg in the subzero cold gave you a turn," Jarlaxle said. "Next time, I suggest we try it in a tropical paradise. That way the shock won't be quite as severe."

Artemis stared at the drow mercenary's face until it came into focus. Then he looked around him. He was lying on the floor in their bedroom, next to the fire.

Artemis blinked. "How…?"

"It doesn't matter," Jarlaxle said. "Does it?"

Artemis frowned. "Was I dead?"

Jarlaxle chuckled. "No."

So this was just like the time he woke up to find himself in Menzoberranzan after losing to Drizzt. Both times Jarlaxle saw him helpless, his demise certain, and changed that. "Why do you do that?" Artemis muttered.

Jarlaxle looked startled. "What?"

"Never mind."

For a few moments Jarlaxle merely chanted, and Artemis let the healing orb work. The feeling of his leg knitting back together prickled.

"Let's see how far along you are," Jarlaxle said. He held out his hand.

Artemis hesitated, then took it.

Jarlaxle hauled him up. "Put some weight on it."

Artemis gingerly tested his leg. "It doesn't feel broken, but it aches."

Jarlaxle helped him walk over to his bed, and he sat down. Jarlaxle sat down across from him, on the drow mercenary's own bed. "Let's finish here. I think you've spent long enough on the floor."

As Jarlaxle started the healing orb again, Artemis realized that most drow wouldn't have bothered. So his leg ached. He'd shaken off worse. Most drow probably wouldn't have healed his leg at all. They would have left him where he was, with part of a building pinning him to the street. Giant fodder. Most drow wouldn't care.

More than that, in his estimation, most people wouldn't care. It didn't matter if someone was drow, or human, or something else. People did not care about other people. People did not care about him.

Jarlaxle paused. "Stand up. Tell me how it feels."

Artemis stood and tested his weight. It was easy this time. He sat back down. "Better."

Jarlaxle smiled and pocketed his orb.

Artemis couldn't help looking down at his leg. "I may as well have not broken it." He touched his knee, felt his calf almost suspiciously. Then he looked Jarlaxle straight in the eye. "Why did you restore my leg?"

"Why do you think I did?" Jarlaxle asked. His face revealed nothing.

Artemis frowned. "I don't know."

"I think you do."

"What is this?" Artemis snapped. "A game?"

"No," Jarlaxle said. "I merely think you know the answer to your question, based on other things I have said to you before. I wish that you remember."

Artemis stared at him.

"I think I am being very patient with you," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis shook his head.

"You give up?" Jarlaxle folded his hands and smiled indulgently. "Then I will tell you. I am your friend."

"Your friend? You let me attack that giant by myself!"

"It was your choice to attack the giants," Jarlaxle said.

"You –"

"You were doing fine until you saved Sir Whitehorse." Jarlaxle's visible eye twinkled. "I thought you would allow him to die for your success."

Artemis jumped to his feet. "I…" Then he hesitated and sat down on the edge of his bed again. He hadn't remembered that point until Jarlaxle mentioned it. He had saved the paladin. Pushed him out of the way…

He mustered a scowl in Jarlaxle's direction. "I guess I'm not like you."

Jarlaxle waved away that concern. "We'll talk about me some other time."

"That's a shock," Artemis said. "I thought we always talk about you."

Jarlaxle shrugged. "That is an illusion brought on by your conceptions of me."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Is that how it is?"

"Yes," Jarlaxle said. "Frankly, I think you have a lot of misconceptions about me."

"Like what?" Artemis demanded.

"Well –"

"Like your not being a Baenre, I suppose," Artemis said sarcastically.

"Don't open that door, Artemis. You won't like where it goes."

"No?"

Jarlaxle shook his head. "No. I haven't asked at all about the past you revealed in the trial. Do you think that is because I was not curious, or perhaps because I did not hear? I was there, and I heard. But I minded my own business." Jarlaxle looked deadly serious. "For your sake, I hope you mind yours, as well."

"What in the Nine Hells?" Artemis stared at him. "Is that a threat?"

"Yes," Jarlaxle said simply.

Artemis rubbed his chin. Well, at least Jarlaxle was straightforward about his threats. He sighed. "Fine. I'll have to drop it." He swung his legs onto the bed and reclined.

Jarlaxle grinned. "You will find all this in your best interests, whatever you might think."

He said, deadpan, "Right, and I trust you."

"Yes," Jarlaxle said. "I hope so."

Artemis rolled over and clamped the pillow on top of his head.

Jarlaxle chuckled.

"I am going to sleep while it is still dark."

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "Funny. This is the most active time for me." He rose and tipped his hat, though Artemis ostensibly couldn't see him.

"Where are you going?"

"Around." Jarlaxle gestured carelessly. "I do have other concerns besides you."

"I hadn't noticed."

* * *

Thank you to Ariel D for beta reading my chapter even though she was busy with real-life work.


	16. Chapter 16: Something Else, Something

Excerpted from R. A. Salvatore's _Servant of the Shard_:

Jarlaxle of mystery, who knew my father, who claims a past friendship with Zaknafein.

How could a drow who befriended Zaknafein ally with Artemis Entreri? At quick glance, [sic] the notion seems incongruous, even preposterous. And yet, I do believe Jarlaxle's claims of the former and know the latter to be true – for the second time.

Professionally, I see no mystery in the union. Entreri has ever preferred a position of the shadows, serving as the weapon of a high-paying master – no, not master. I doubt that Artemis Entreri has ever known a master. Rather, even in the service of the guilds, he worked as a sword for hire. Certainly such a skilled mercenary could find a place with Bregan D'aerthe, especially since they've come to the surface and likely need humans to front and cover their true identity. For Jarlaxle, therefore, the alliance with Entreri is certainly a convenient thing.

But there is something else, something more, between them. I know this from the way Jarlaxle spoke of the man, and from the simple fact that the mercenary leader went so far out of his way to arrange the last fight between me and Entreri. It was for the sake of Entreri's state of mind, and certainly as no favor to me, and as no mere source of entertainment for Jarlaxle. He cares for Entreri as a friend might, even as he values the assassin's multitude of skills.

- Drizzt Do'Urden

(127-128)

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Something Else, Something More

* * *

With a growl, Entreri threw the covers aside. He was tired, and he ached, but he couldn't quiet the turmoil he felt inside.

He sat up and cradled his head in his hands.

Every time he tried to exert control, every time he felt calm settling upon him, the building raining down on him flashed through his head like lightning, dancing behind his eyelids. The pain, the fear sickened him. That one moment of abject cowardice. He couldn't deny it. He'd felt it. When the corner of the building pinned his leg to the street and pain ripped through him, when he heard his own scream in his ears, when he looked up and saw chunks of stone falling on him…

He shook his head fiercely. He'd wanted, wanted so badly – For a moment, he felt his chest open up and his internal organs turn to water. If he could have, he would have cried out, an inarticulate cry with all of the words behind it –

Shame stung his eyes. In that one moment, he'd thought: Somebody, please save me.

And then Jarlaxle swooped down in that multicolored blur and carried him away. Jarlaxle, whom he'd thought abandoned him.

_He did abandon me. He wouldn't go with me, to save the people – he wanted to see them all killed – he wanted them to be killed so that he could come in as the hero and –_

_But Jarlaxle did come back. He came back for me…_

Suddenly, the desire to ask Jarlaxle why was so strong his chest burned. Artemis knew finding Jarlaxle in the night, after the drow slipped off to do whatever it was a drow mercenary did in the middle of the night by himself, was a long shot. Having this knowledge didn't matter. Artemis only knew that in spite of the reasonable-sounding realities, he had to find Jarlaxle anyway.

* * *

Artemis wiped his streaming nose. He glanced both ways down the deserted street and glared into the night. Snowflakes caught in his eyelashes glittered. The effect, gathered altogether from the street lamps giving out jaundiced light and the emptiness in spite of the battle earlier that night, enraged him. He stalked like a caged tiger from street to street.

He hated the hot feeling on his face that he was proving himself a fool, wandering through the streets like a lost puppy to ask a dark elf why there had been mercy for him. His whole behavior was ridiculous. He'd lost Jarlaxle's trail as thoroughly as though he were an apprentice. Nothing could possibly resurrect the direction of Jarlaxle's travel to him now. He'd spent the better part of an hour wandering. The chance that he would see Jarlaxle around one of these dark corners was so slim…

Artemis turned on his heel and cut down a different street, intending to go home. He was struck dumb with surprise. Jarlaxle's cape wavered in front of his eyes from far away like a mirage. In his panic he ducked into an alley. There, amidst the garbage bins, he schooled his fast-beating heart. How could he be so lucky? Or stupid?

After a moment he crept to the mouth of the alley and glimpsed Jarlaxle from his hiding spot. His heart still pounded strangely. He'd always wondered how Jarlaxle managed to detect pursuers. Now he would find out.

_See if you can catch me. _

Artemis set himself on Jarlaxle's trail.

The drow was fairly straightforward. Either Jarlaxle didn't sense that he was being followed, or he did, and the ease with which he strolled down the dark street was meant to mock the assassin.

Artemis repeatedly shoved aside the feeling of walking into a trap by reminding himself that even if it were, with Jarlaxle it was not likely to be fatal. Jarlaxle did other things to his victims. Being used, Entreri could take. Hadn't he always? He hadn't encountered a situation yet where he hadn't been used for someone else's gain. Even with Dwahvel, he was practical enough to admit that he satisfied her halfling curiosity.

Jarlaxle walked five blocks without once looking over his shoulder and knocked on the door of a building that looked like any other. Artemis guessed it was a home, but it was impossible to tell just by looking at it. All the buildings were ubiquitous two-story stone cubes devoid of features. In the night, the effect was monstrous.

Why did the Nesme architects design the monstrosity? To squelch morale? There ought to be dormers or minarets or different size windows or something – anything. Anything to ease the soul-crushing uniformity of it all. Even in the hovels of Calimport each family specialized their dwellings.

Artemis rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't even know where he was. He'd followed Jarlaxle west. That was it.

Artemis felt as though he waited in the shadows for an eternity. The silence stretched too long.

Apparently Jarlaxle agreed with him. The drow mercenary knocked again. They both waited in tense discomfort, unable to break the tension because of the secret of Artemis' presence.

A light came on in the dark building's second story window. Jarlaxle's body relaxed. Artemis imagined the footsteps of the person coming down the stairs. He counted, imagining the steps in their house, and waited expectantly when he reached the bottom in his mental floor plan. Now the resident would be crossing the living room…going through the dining room…

He had it, almost to the second. The front door opened, and Jarlaxle was admitted.

Artemis stole around to the side of the building and glanced in the kitchen window. The view was not good but he saw Jarlaxle talking to some woman. He should have known. It was that kind of visit. Jarlaxle just couldn't keep his hands off of people.

He growled low in his throat without realizing at first.

Jarlaxle engaged her in conversation, gesticulating. They retreated out of view – but if all houses were alike on the inside as well as the outside, Jarlaxle and the woman were walking away from the stairwell.

Artemis scaled the side of the building. The rough stone walls were easy. He broke into the bedroom window without a noise, using a dagger to lift the latch. He swung the window open outwards, pushed the shutters in, and he was inside. He shut the window, replaced the latch, and pulled the shutters, effectively erasing his break-in. He crept to the top of the stairs. Jarlaxle's voice and the woman's echoed, distorted, up to him.

Artemis glanced around. He smirked. This woman was foolish. Very foolish. She owned a wardrobe pushed against one wall. Taking stock of the room – fur rug next to a full-sized bed piled with blankets, dresser with oil lamp sitting on top lit, fireplace with fire burning – he turned on his heel and slipped into the wardrobe.

He didn't have to wait more than fifteen minutes before Jarlaxle and the woman came upstairs.

_If he didn't sense me by now, he must,_ Artemis thought contemptuously.

Jarlaxle and the woman sat down on the edge of the bed. The drow mercenary stroked her cheek. "I am glad that you are safe, Mila."

The tender sincerity in Jarlaxle's tone set Artemis' teeth on edge. In spite of the utter ring of truth, the fact that Jarlaxle said something like that proved the drow was lying.

Mila quaked. "I felt so helpless."

Jarlaxle rested his head against hers. "There, there."

Artemis imagined rushing them and slashing both their throats, right now. He shied away from a frightening, unknown source of hurt. The look he focused on the redheaded woman was so intense that she should have flinched just to feel it upon her. _He's only trying to get your clothes off, you stupid bitch. _

"Oh, Jarlaxle!" Mila threw her arms around him and kissed him on the lips with enough force to suck his soul out.

Artemis curled his lip in disgust.

Jarlaxle held her to him, arms around her waist.

Mila reached up and slid his hat back, exposing his shaved scalp. Jarlaxle flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. She traced his pointed ear. He arched backwards onto the bed, reaching out blindly for the oil lamp on the nightstand. He was too far away. Mila lay across him, kissing him.

Jarlaxle sighed. "Artemis…"

Artemis' body turned to ice. _He knows? He knows I'm here?_

"What?" Mila asked, flinging her hair out of her face with a toss of her head.

"I…I said _ar temis_. It means 'good'."

"Is that your language?"

"Mm."

Artemis stared at Jarlaxle incredulously. Either Jarlaxle wanted him to witness this – a twisted possibility he couldn't dismiss – or Jarlaxle didn't know he was hiding here.

As the tense moments passed without discovery, Artemis' mind streaked through the possibilities. _If he doesn't know I'm here, why did he say my name? Is he thinking about me? Is he concerned? Guilty?_

His heart thudded painfully. _That would mean he cares about me._

He shook his head, swallowing a bitter lump in his throat. He knew that would be too good to be true. No one cared about him. He'd lived his life by that truth and it had served him well. When others fell, backstabbed and lulled into a sense of false safety, he stood tall. Vigilant. He couldn't afford any of their naïve illusions, no matter how much he cared. Regardless of his own feelings, he couldn't afford to assume someone else's.

He'd done that once before.

Jarlaxle and the thin, leggy redhead continued to kiss and rub against each other and commence in all sorts of disgusting ways. He'd seen so-called lovemaking before and it had never impressed him. It seemed pathetic and animalistic.

Mila allowed Jarlaxle to flip her so that she was the one pinned with her back to the pillows. Jarlaxle sat on his knees in front of her, between her parted legs. The drow mercenary playfully leaned forward and captured her lips in a slow, sensuous kiss.

Artemis resisted the urge to snort. _It figures._ He hoped that Mila marked how insistent Jarlaxle was about being in control, and he also hoped that she was too stupid to notice. His legs cramped from crouching, but he ignored that.

Jarlaxle leaned in for another kiss. Instead of meeting him dead on, Mila leaned to the side and guided Jarlaxle's head to her shoulder, stroking his bare scalp, surprising Artemis.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

Jarlaxle didn't try to re-engage her. He allowed himself to be held. "Is it that obvious?"

"Are you thinking about Artemis?"

Artemis froze, every hair on his body standing on end.

Jarlaxle let out a little, sad laugh. "Does that matter?"

"I didn't believe your explanation," Mila said gently. "I know a name when I hear it. How…" She hesitated. "Is she important to you?"

Artemis almost choked.

Jarlaxle went along with her assumption of gender. "She is my best friend." He sighed. "But I can't get her to listen. She…she seems to think…" He shrugged half-heartedly. "I can't seem to find the right thing to say."

Mila stroked his neck. "That's normal, sometimes."

"But I always have the right thing to say."

_Typical Jarlaxle arrogance!_ Artemis shook his head. _To think you can so easily manipulate me as you have countless others – as easily as you have manipulated this Mila!_

"You can't find the words so easily, sometimes," Mila said. "You care about what she thinks. You are afraid of saying the wrong thing. Especially because you love her."

Jarlaxle jerked in the same way at the same instant that Artemis did. Jarlaxle stared at her. Artemis was doing the same. _What in the nine hells is she saying?_ To say that being mistaken for Jarlaxle's romantic interest nonplussed him would be an understatement.

"Because I love her?" Jarlaxle's eyes searched Mila's face.

Mila frowned at him, looking puzzled. "Yes."

Jarlaxle moved his lips, working this out. "Be…cause…I love…her…"

Mila looked at him as if he were crazy. "Of course you do." Then, suddenly, her gaze sharpened. "You haven't told her this yet?"

Jarlaxle stared at her and licked his lips. "Well, you see…there are complications."

Artemis felt totally mystified. _What is Jarlaxle talking about?_ _Of course there are complications! I'm a man! Why doesn't he just correct her?_

"Her family." Mila nodded sympathetically.

Jarlaxle squirmed. "No…She is alone. She is as you and I – estranged, an adventurer without a home or family to speak of."

"Then what is the problem?" Mila asked. "Unless she doesn't like you…" She shook her head. "But you are friends, you said."

"That is just it," Jarlaxle said. "I don't think she…would accept a man in her life in the way that I…want to offer her."

Artemis rolled his eyes from his hiding spot. Oh, for the love of…Of course Jarlaxle wouldn't just explain. The mercenary had an aversion to truth. _This is pathetic._ _She is giving him romantic woman advice when he's trying to talk about how he feels about me._

Mila waited for him to continue, stroking his head.

"She has had past experiences," Jarlaxle said, "that prevent her from feeling close. I can do what I can to be her friend, but I can't make her ignore her experience and lower her guard."

_Wait, what? How could he say that to someone we don't even know? Gods, how much does he know? _Artemis' pulse picked up. The trial. Jarlaxle was paying attention after all. What if Kimmuriel – what if Rai-guy did it? Summoned demons to inquire into his past? _They were always laughing at me – did they know –_

"She has had experiences in the past that make her wary of men?" Mila asked gently.

Jarlaxle nodded, not looking her in the eyes. "I think so."

Artemis felt himself stiffen. _Don't discuss this with her. How dare you? How dare you speculate about this? This woman is a total stranger!_ He vividly imagined rushing out of the wardrobe and slaughtering them both. He wouldn't stop at mere murder. He would gouge out their eyes like a vengeful crow, he would cut off their hands –

"I want to tell her that I will make everything okay. I can help her move on. But I cannot get close to her." Jarlaxle's hands clenched and unclenched uncertainly. He stared at them.

The sheer absurdity of Jarlaxle's words versus his own mindset calmed Artemis down. He couldn't help but read some humor into Jarlaxle's pitiful statements when they were made at the precise moment that the drow's 'female' friend was planning to murder him.

"Sometimes people have to work things out for themselves," Mila said. She cupped Jarlaxle's cheek in her hand and kissed him on the forehead.

_She has a brain after all. Yes. Good. Listen to her. _

Jarlaxle bowed his head and rested his forehead on her chest just above her cleavage. "I can't stand by and watch her ruin her life."

_You meddling jackass! This is my life!_ Artemis clenched his fists. _Even if it were ruined, what could you possible do?_

"How is she ruining her life?" Mila asked.

"I've seen so much pain…This once, I want to prevent it."

_Prevent it?_ Artemis raised his eyebrows. As a drow, Jarlaxle should be one to know that pain is never preventable. Pain is a constant state of being alive. _The only way to prevent pain is to kill someone, and damned if I'm going to let you kill me. _

"Things may not be as ruined as you think," Mila said.

_Now there's an understatement. _

Jarlaxle looked at her.

"She may be working things out for herself already," Mila said. "It sounds as though you've dropped quite a few hints."

Jarlaxle gave her a rueful look. "I have?"

'_Hints' is the polite word for it. He's been ramming it down my throat._ Entreri glared at him.

"You've helped her before," Mila said. "You've offered your services. She has to accept them. She is thinking about it. I know you." She reclined with a sigh, settling him against her chest. "You are very charming." She stroked the top of his head. "I know I'm nothing special. Neither one of us want this relationship to last. But if you have someone that cares for you, I want you to be happy – a good person is hard to find."

Jarlaxle kissed her neck and murmured an assent.

_I may vomit._ Artemis rolled his eyes.

"What do you think I should do?" Jarlaxle asked.

Mila seemed startled. "Once she is ready? Propose to her, of course. You love her. There are people that will marry a drow and a human." She squeezed his shoulder.

Jarlaxle shifted, disconcerted. "How did you know she was human?"

Mila smiled wryly. "I doubt many elves would have interest in you. They tend to be too caught up in their own prejudices to give you a chance. A human is the only kind of person who would be your friend."

_You're assuming anyone wants to be his friend._ Artemis scowled.

Jarlaxle didn't touch that line of reasoning. "Marry? What do you mean?"

Mila sat up suddenly, inadvertently dropping Jarlaxle into her lap. "You have to know what marriage is. Drow must have marriage. Don't they?"

Jarlaxle put his hand on her shoulder for purchase and pulled himself up into a sitting position. "No."

Mila raked a hand through her unruly curls. "Corellan's eye-teeth, Jarlaxle! No wonder you're confused."

_Oh, is that why?_

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes at her in apparent irritation. "What?"

"When you love a girl, you have to marry her!"

"But what does marrying mean?" Jarlaxle demanded.

Mila ran both hands through her hair and took a deep breath. "Well, it's like…You have to tell her you'll always be there."

"I have," Jarlaxle protested.

Artemis stiffened. This conversation was getting too personal again. What right did Jarlaxle have to discuss this? He shifted uneasily.

Mila held up a hand to shush the drow. "You do this by giving her a ring, or some other token of your affection. And she wears it, and you get marri – " She let out a frustrated sigh. "You get a priest to tell you – to bless your union…urgh…"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she was ready, she started again. "You tell each other you can't leave. You have to work together through life and live together because you love each other." She narrowed her eyes at his blank expression. "It's like a business contract. You know what that is, right?"

_Don't patronize him._ Artemis felt a flare of irritation towards her.

"I am not slow," Jarlaxle said with asperity. "Drow merely have sexual affairs indiscriminately."

Artemis almost stood straight up. _How can you manage to say that with a lofty tone?_ He restrained himself, barely.

"What happens when you have children, then?" Mila asked.

"The females take care of them," Jarlaxle said.

"That's callous!" Mila exclaimed. "Those poor women, running around with all those children –" She stopped at Jarlaxle's chuckle.

"The females want the children," Jarlaxle said.

Mila narrowed her eyes at him. "The Nine Hells they do!"

He laughed. "But they do! That is how they build their empires."

Her jaw dropped. "Empires? What…?"

"Each family holds its own separate House," Jarlaxle said, gesturing, "and each House vies with the others for control of the empire – the city. Each separate House consists of a Matron, her consorts, and their children. The House controls a body of servants and soldiers, varying in size according to their wealth." Jarlaxle spread his hands. "So you see, the Matrons want children. The more children they have, the more allies with which to plot."

Artemis nodded slowly as Jarlaxle went about his description. Artemis had heard this before, when he was staying in Menzoberranzan.

Mila's forehead was creased incredulously. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Does not each family on the surface want glory?" Jarlaxle asked. "And in a direct reflection of my society, are not the women used to create children that the man greatly desires?"

Artemis was troubled by Jarlaxle's parallel.

Mila similarly hesitated. "Yes…But…But you make it sound so twisted." She looked at him anxiously. "There isn't any love in that way of doing things. It sounds so heartless."

"It is." Jarlaxle was no longer smiling. He stroked the top of her head. "It is, Mila. Males are used as a means of production, like a blacksmith uses iron, and with no more forethought or appreciation."

Artemis shuddered.

"How could you stand it?" Mila asked.

Artemis suddenly wanted to know the answer to that question, too.

Jarlaxle met Mila's eyes for a moment and then looked away. "I couldn't."

In a flood of comprehension, Artemis realized why Jarlaxle must have wanted to come to the surface so badly. _He is prideful, and even as successful as he was, no one down there would give him any respect._

"I'm sorry," Mila said. "I shouldn't have pried. I crossed a lot of lines for someone…who hardly knows you."

"I let you," Jarlaxle said quietly. He smiled at her and shrugged. "It is not such a big thing for one who has escaped their machinations."

"It isn't?" Mila asked. "I'd think it would be."

"No," Jarlaxle said. "I protected myself centuries ago."

"But…" She frowned. "It doesn't still bother you?"

"No. Why should it?"

"It would bother me," Mila said.

"I am not you," Jarlaxle said. He smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

Mila put her hands on his chest and gently pushed him away. She frowned. "No. Not now." In response to Jarlaxle's apprehensive expression, she added, "Please."

"But – " Jarlaxle's brow burrowed. "Why? We were only talking of the past…"

Mila shrugged her shoulders. "Is it really?"

Jarlaxle frowned at her. His eyes were suddenly intense. "Yes. It is."

Artemis held his breath.

"Things like that just don't go away, Jarlaxle."

_If she knew who he was – what he was – she wouldn't dare call him out._ Artemis' eyes widened. He didn't know what Jarlaxle was going to do.

"Don't they?" Jarlaxle asked. Artemis noticed his argumentative streak coming out. "Don't you humans say time heals all ills?"

Mila pushed away his hand when he tried to stroke her cheek. She shook her head. "But they're wrong, Jarlaxle." She looked at him fiercely. "Their saying is wrong. Time doesn't cure all ills. It takes a lot more than time to heal those wounds."

"I know that," Jarlaxle said. "My determination is what healed my wounds. Over a period of time. Given enough time, I am healed."

"Determination?" Mila gave him the strangest look. "Is that all it takes?" She placed her hand over his heart.

Artemis felt his heart beating painfully in his chest. _If determination were all it takes, Jarlaxle, I would never have nightmares again._ _I would believe in love and honor and pray to the gods._ He squeezed his eyes shut, overcome with a wave of bitterness. _She's right, Jarlaxle. Determination hasn't helped me. Nothing can help me._

There was silence in the room. When Artemis opened his eyes, Jarlaxle was still staring at her. "What about love?" Mila asked. "Where is love in all this?"

Jarlaxle took her wrist and gently pushed her hand away. "Mila…"

Mila looked into his eyes. "What if it takes love?"

"That's enough," Jarlaxle said gently. "Your concern is touching, but nonetheless unflattering. I think I should go." He stood and retrieved his hat.

"Go to Artemis, then!" Mila pleaded. "She'll understand. She loves you."

"I do not think so," Jarlaxle said simply. He turned away and walked down the stairs.

A tear slid down each of Mila's cheeks in perfect harmony, glistening in the light of the oil lamp. The sight stunned Artemis Entreri. Who was she, that she could cry over Jarlaxle, knowing that he was drow and incapable of love?

He shifted uneasily. It concerned him less that he was losing Jarlaxle's trail, and more that he didn't know how he was going to escape undetected when Mila was in a state of dismay and the oil lamp was on.

Luckily for him, her solution seemed to be to cry herself to sleep. A few minutes after sitting on her bed with a stunned expression on her face, the redhead flung herself face down on the bed and twisted the knob on the oil lamp, extinguishing the flame.

Artemis slipped out without a sound, silently thanking the well-oiled hinges of the wardrobe.

He walked home, thinking that he would find Jarlaxle there, but the drow mercenary was gone.


	17. Chapter 17: Disappointment

Excerpt from R. A. Salvatore's _Servant of the Shard_:

A grin widened across the dark elf's face. "I know you, Artemis Entreri," he said, grinning still, "and I know that you'll not throw away such power and promise, such beauty as Crenshinibon!"

Entreri looked at him hard. "Without the slightest hesitation," he said coldly. "And so would you, had you not fallen under its spell. I see that enchantment for what it is, a trap of temporary gain through reckless action that can only lead to complete and utter ruin. You disappoint me, Jarlaxle. I had thought you smarter than this."

Jarlaxle's expression, too, turned cold. A flash of anger lit his dark eyes. For just a moment, Entreri thought his first fight of the day was upon him, thought the dark elf would attack him.

(page 254)

**Chapter 17**

Disappointment

* * *

Jarlaxle walked down the street, his boots magically silent in the slush, striving to take deep, settling breaths. Each light from a street lamp in the distance was another marker, another goal. Once he reached its halo, he set his sights on the next one. Light, goal, light, goal. Each step he took was a distraction and a reminder. A distraction from the turmoil he felt inside, and a reminder to be alert. _Keep a sharp eye out._ On the way to Mila's home, Jarlaxle felt as though he were being followed. If his pursuer had waited for him, the spy – or whomever it was – could be on his tail right now. He couldn't pin down for a certainty who would want him followed. Perhaps one of the light elves of the city who did not trust him? He had noted a few old and powerful light elf families residing within the city. He'd hoped uneasily that they could stay out of each other's paths.

Jarlaxle wished he could tell himself he was ready for anything that came at him, but he was poor at self-delusion. Self-delusion in Menzoberranzan often was the cause of death. As comforting as it might be to tell himself he was at the top of his game, he felt sick with anger.

Who was Mila to tell him that he was damaged? She was the half-elf outcast sleeping with a drow for entertainment. He had lived centuries longer than she ever would. He had overcome obstacles she clearly couldn't imagine. To question him, to imply that his mental scars and the unresolved nature thereof were more important than the physical pleasures he offered her…the insult was staggering.

_It was clearly a mistake to burden her with my troubles,_ Jarlaxle thought. _I thought she understood. I thought she would make a show of comfort the way I had just finished comforting her! _

Instead, what did he hear? The same patronizing prejudice he endured from full-blooded light elves! The intrinsic assumption of the superiority of their ways, their customs, their gods. As if he needed lessons on how to be a completely actualized person! They are the blind ones, the arrogant ones, the petty ones.

Jarlaxle clenched his fists tight at his sides, glad for the cooling air against the throbbing heat of his face.

Sooner or later, he knew he would have to face the question of where he was going to. Home? For a brief instant, he was assailed by a powerful image of the humble stone building. Then Artemis' scowling face overshadowed it. He could never tell Artemis what happened. Never. He had betrayed Artemis, betrayed him once by inattention and once more by sharing his insights with an outsider, someone he knew the assassin would never respect if Artemis knew her. _And for what? For nothing, for no comfort, for no solutions. _

Jarlaxle felt a wave of bitterness that stung his eyes. Apparently, he had revealed himself, the secret vulnerability of his heart, only to be mocked. More than that. To be rejected as a sex partner because he was too damaged for her tastes.

Her words created a sublime layer of hell for someone who was not drow. Are you really well? _Of course I am! _Don't you need more than determination to overcome obstacles? _What else is there? If I don't have this special, mysterious factor, how can I ultimately survive?_ Tell Artemis everything; she'll understand.

Jarlaxle froze, stung, mid-step. He hung his head. Understanding was never the problem with Artemis Entreri. The man understood plenty. The problem was that, understanding all the world, Entreri sympathized with none of it. He had rejected everyone and everything in Toril.

* * *

_He was kissing her. When he should have been with me, he was kissing her. _

The thoughts were inexorable, plodding on without his permission. Artemis told himself these thoughts were irrational, even insane. That he sounded exactly like the jealous woman Mila assumed he was. That he had no claim on Jarlaxle, and certainly nothing would change because he wanted it to.

But seconds after asking if his leg were fully healed, Jarlaxle had turned around and deserted him. Again. He had followed, desperate for the reason, and what did he find out?

It was sex.

Artemis ground his teeth, shifting on the bed. Gods, gods, it was always sex! Always! What could he do to escape this sex-crazed world, except to kill himself or kill everything in it?

And what was Jarlaxle always saying? I am your friend, I care about you, I want you to be happy. Artemis rolled over and, digging his fingers into his pillow, buried his face in it, trying to stifle the flood of his emotions. He wanted to take his dagger and slash it, not snuggle up to it. But he couldn't allow himself to ruin a good pillow. That would be impractical. Childish. The exact things he felt he was being accused of.

Artemis told himself that he didn't care whatever Jarlaxle said, that he should go to sleep, and that at the very least he should be well-rested when he killed Jarlaxle in the morning.

But he couldn't do it.

He lay awake in bed, listening to the fire crackling and staring at the ceiling. He sighed. Somehow the noise of the fire was very annoying. Whenever he started to distract himself, intent on drifting off, he'd hear a crack, snap, or pop. Then he would be wide awake again.

Eventually, even though Artemis tried to fight it off, the insidious idea that he ought to steal over to Mila's residence and kill her crept inside his head. There was no way he could allow her to live, after hearing Jarlaxle's sordid speculations about him. Jarlaxle humiliated him! Laid him bare, exposed a past the drow hardly understood or cared about, and all with a mockery of sympathy! He couldn't bear for a person to be a vessel for that.

Except…Mila hardly knew who he was. The stupid redhead thought he was a woman. Some female Jarlaxle intended to woo.

In the back of his mind he heard rain starting to tap on the roof.

Why? Why had Jarlaxle said that he was a woman?

* * *

_Why did I call Artemis Entreri a woman? _

Jarlaxle leaned against the side of a closed tavern, under the eaves, and looked out at the street. He crossed his arms and sighed.

The fact was he shouldn't have needed to. He shouldn't have slipped. He should never have allowed himself to fantasize in that moment that he was kissing the assassin instead. The thought should never have entered his mind.

And why? Why had he imagined kissing Entreri? What had been his motives? Because he knew that in terms of practicality, his liaisons with Mila should quench every sexual desire he had. She was a satisfying partner. That was why he kept coming back. And every time he left, he felt better. In control.

That will never happen again now that I have been judged unworthy.

The light of the street lamps reflecting off the slick stones of the street seemed so mournful, so melancholy, until he realized that he was attributing his emotions to inanimate objects.

He struggled to dismantle the gloomy effect of the winter night and felt only marginally calmer. Although his vest and breeches were enchanted to protect him from extreme weather, that didn't mean he didn't get cold and wet. He wanted nothing more than to be home. His mind brought him an image of lying snugly against the assassin in bed, listening to his human friend's slumbering breathing…and several imagined sensations of warmth.

The drow mercenary rubbed the bridge of his nose. That image was so damning, so tempting…He knew it was a figment of his imagination. If he tried to even touch Entreri in his sleep the man would break his fingers. Sleeping next to the assassin was worse than unattainable.

And he knew that. He knew what kind of tortures the assassin had likely been through. He could see it in every skittish glance, every wary acceptance of the drow's touch on his arm. How could he hurt such a man, a man that lived in fear of the next time something horrible would happen? The very thought of misfortunate befalling the assassin made him sick. Why did he entertain notions of gentle seduction when he knew Artemis Entreri would hate him for it?

Was he a monster? Were Mila's eyes perceptive after all, seeing some soul-deep flaw he couldn't detect? Had he been irrevocably twisted by his upbringing?

Jarlaxle wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fight off the sensation of needing to vomit. _Damn Mila. Damn her. Between her and the crystal shard I shall be undone._

_

* * *

_

After half an hour of dozing in and out of consciousness, Artemis rolled over and absurdly wondered if Jarlaxle was wet. What did he care? Being wet was not going to hurt the drow. Jarlaxle could survive evil artifacts and dragons and panthers breaking bones. Jarlaxle recovered from massive head trauma without so much as a side effect. He was not going to melt. Besides, Jarlaxle wouldn't be stupid enough to stay out in the rain anyway.

_He is probably in some tavern drinking something_ – _dry red wine,_ his mind unhelpfully supplied – _and finding a replacement for his Mila so he can still get laid tonight,_ Artemis finished. _Perhaps another redhead,_ the same voice answered back. He wished he could murder it.

The rain started to beat against the roof in earnest, as if frustrated by its defeat.

Why, after all Jarlaxle had done to him – especially lately – did he worry about Jarlaxle and the ill effects of rain? He certainly felt foolish. Nonetheless, he did worry. Since Crenshinibon sank its hooks into Jarlaxle's psyche, Entreri found himself worrying about Jarlaxle a lot. More than normal. More than was really healthy. One of the reasons he had striven to rid the world of the crystal shard, after all, was that he didn't want Crenshinibon messing around with Jarlaxle anymore. The motivation was hard to own up to and impossible to say, but he did. He'd hoped that Jarlaxle's equilibrium would be restored by the destruction of the shard and he had been rewarded, albeit in an unexpected way.

Who could have thought that the drow would choose to remain on the surface? He had never once during their journey to the Spirit Soaring entertained that possibility. Jarlaxle, his venture failed, would go home, and he would return to a boring, somewhat meaningless existence as a traveling assassin. People always wanted other people to die. It was a fact of life. He could never run out of business. That alone, he supposed, could have sustained him, even if that path did not lead to eventual happiness.

Instead, Jarlaxle yanked him along on this improbable adventure designed to prove…what? That he and the drow were good partners? That he ought to find a career that made him happy? He had never called into question the wisdom of Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe. Though their enterprises often seemed to fail, it was not the fault of bad partnership. The gods merely expressed their general hatred. And though Jarlaxle stressed a happy work environment, Artemis could see what the point was. Work was work, and play was play. After a big job, he liked to rest. Briefly. As long as it took to get his breath back, get some sleep, and eat. That was enough. He couldn't understand why Jarlaxle thought him unfulfilled.

What did Jarlaxle have, after all, that he didn't? They both worked for a living most of the hours out of the day. The time Jarlaxle spent relaxing was deceptive; more an attitude or a frame of mind than actually lying idle. Both of them liked their jobs to keep them busy.

No, as far as Artemis was concerned, it was a mystery. The facts of life: Jarlaxle was happy, and Artemis Entreri wasn't. It seemed as simple as that. He wondered if that would ever change.

* * *

Jarlaxle couldn't remember a time he had spent in more misery. Trying to cleanse himself of his misery, he stepped into the rain, instinctively wishing for the storm to wash his feelings away. He took off his hat, closed his eyes, and let the rain come pounding at him. The raindrops were much harsher than he anticipated. Instead of falling and trickling over his bare skin, they slapped and stung. All at once a vision of Bladen'kerst standing over him with whip in hand flashed across his vision, and he staggered.

Jamming his hat on his head, Jarlaxle retreated to the dubious comfort of the eaves. To anyone else, he might have seemed a foolish drow, shaking beside a building like a stray dog. He stuck out his lower lip stubbornly. But no one else would know; no one else could comprehend the situation he was in.

He didn't know how he could face Artemis, even if the assassin were asleep. He could have gotten Artemis Entreri killed tonight, just because he'd underestimated the human's resistance. To Entreri, a fight was a fight, and he should have known that. Asking Entreri not to try his best would be like asking him to stop weaving plots. He'd sooner choke to death.

The idea that he might have to admit he hadn't taken that into account was so repugnant to him that he seriously considered not returning tonight at all. Perhaps if he found some distraction for the assassin Entreri would not notice his failure.

Unwanted, Mila's advice suddenly came back to him with frustrating clarity. _Just tell Artemis you love him! _

Jarlaxle did not consider himself violent, but he wanted to punch something.

Why should he make himself vulnerable? To allow the assassin to mock him? To satisfy some masochistic human cultural need the assassin might have? Why should he do something according to any culture's whims? He did not allow drow females to drag him off the street and copulate with him. He could see no reason to make flowery declarations of love – whatever that meant to a human – because Artemis' culture dictated it.

If there was any chance that the assassin would accept him, he might change his mind, but Jarlaxle already knew there wasn't.

No, telling Artemis his love was out of the question.

Jarlaxle sighed and walked out into the rain. He stood over a gurgling storm drain, possessed of the notion of being that rain, sluicing down into parts unknown, where he would never have to be seen again.

But he knew what lay underneath, down below, in the dark. He had come from there. Underneath his feet, though it might be by hundreds of miles, was the Underdark. No escape there.

Jarlaxle felt squeezed, smothered. In spite of the vastness of heaven and earth, this town, so small and petty, trapped him. He was trapped here, on these damp streets, his own dark reflection looking back at him from the pavement. That smeared blur of a drow seemed to reflect more of how he felt than his actual appearance.

Mila was not wrong about him. He wanted to tell Artemis. Keeping this secret inside was almost unbearable – getting closer to physically impossible every day. Being around Artemis Entreri used to be fun. Exciting. Now Artemis' presence caused him pain. For every shared glance, he tortured himself with the question of whether or not Artemis detected his true feelings.

Jarlaxle had lied to many people over the course of five centuries. But the difference, he was finding only now, was that he had never cared about any of them the way he cared about this one.

If he was filled with regret, did he not owe Artemis Entreri some demonstration? Perhaps he owed nothing to Artemis' culture, but a great deal to Artemis himself – Artemis the individual. His friend.

Jarlaxle Baenre started walking home.

* * *

Artemis heard the thud of the front door shutting downstairs and threw his pillow aside, pulling on his shirt and sprinting to the stairs in the same instant.

He was unprepared for the sight of Jarlaxle standing just inside the door, looking wet and miserable. Even his felt hat was soaked through, drooping on his head. Rivulets of water from his cape left a puddle around his muddy boots.

Artemis found that when he saw Jarlaxle, all of the things he'd fumed about burst out of him. Somehow the sight of Jarlaxle was just too much. The fact that Jarlaxle was dripping wet and devoid of his usual smile just made it worse. The assassin clenched his fists. "So you decided to come home after your fuck didn't go off the way you'd planned." Why was he so angry? He was so much angrier than he'd planned to be.

Jarlaxle froze. "Fuck?" He pronounced the word quizzically as if he'd never heard it before.

"You know that word!" Artemis snapped. "Don't play stupid with me! _Vith_, you gods-damned drow. Your _vith_ with that sniveling Battlehammer knockoff."

He hadn't realized it until that moment Mila reminded him of Drizzt's friend. He loathed that woman with a singular passion. It was no wonder the sight of Mila made murder pound behind his eyes. That Jarlaxle would find someone like Catti-brie…that Jarlaxle would persist in his fetish for red hair after all this time…Every part of him hurt. It was an agony far worse than his leg being crushed under part of a falling building. The pain was mindless, boundless.

Artemis lashed out and threw a chair across the room. The chair hit the wall with such force the assassin knocked a leg off.

"I…" Jarlaxle's words died in his throat.

"I followed you," Artemis said. "I followed you to her house. I saw what you did with her. More importantly, Jarlaxle, _abbil_, I heard what you said to her." He hoped he could rub Jarlaxle's nose in the drow's own words, hoped he could make Jarlaxle feel one ounce as bad as he felt. If he couldn't, gods help him, he didn't know what to do.

Jarlaxle swallowed. "I said it all because I was concerned –"

"How dare you say those things about me? How dare you say those things about me to a total stranger?" Artemis went from cold and quiet to yelling. "If you have something to say, you say it to me!" He thumped himself in the chest with a fist. "Me! Not her! Not some stranger off the streets! Me!" He stared at the floor. "I thought you were better than that."

Jarlaxle was silent. When he finally looked up, he saw a frozen smile on the drow mercenary's face. Artemis stared at him, wide-eyed. I've finally pushed him too far.

However, instead of attacking him, which is what he might have expected, Jarlaxle let out a single note of a laugh, took a breath, and swallowed. "I disappointed you. Is that it?"

Artemis fought to keep his anger running on full steam. "Yes. You did."

Jarlaxle's smile trembled, but held. "This seems to be my night for disappointing others. Do you know, I think Mila really mistook me for something better."

Artemis tossed his head. "Who gives a fuck what Mila thinks?" He narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. "And you are a some 'one,' not a some 'thing'."

"Am I?" Jarlaxle asked. He looked at the floor, and then, with seeming difficulty, raised his eyes back up to Artemis' face. "What am I to you?"

"A mercenary," Artemis said, surprised. "A drow." Then he realized that Jarlaxle had a point. His answers so far were superficial. Hardly an indication of the person who lay beneath the mantle. "A…" He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "A complicated person."

"Am I?" Jarlaxle's tone was neutral.

"Shut up and let me finish," Artemis snapped, surprising himself. "You are, yes. You are very complicated. Too complicated for a simpleton like Mila to comprehend. She didn't, did she? She just threw her own assumptions back at you and pretended that she listened. She didn't understand you. I do." He sucked in his breath. He hadn't meant to add that last part.

Jarlaxle scrutinized him. "Do you?"

"Yes," Artemis said, angry enough at that cool reaction to stick to his declaration. "I understand more about you than you think I do. I have been studying you – just as you have been studying me. Do not deny it. Ever since we met, it has been a contradiction in personalities, a conflict of interests, a test of wills. My wits against yours. My desires against yours. Somehow, we have managed to work together. Somehow, we have made it work."

"I…" Jarlaxle blinked. He seemed subdued. "Go on."

At the very approval of his actions, Artemis' will to press on seemed to evaporate. He no longer felt the need to drill his opinion into Jarlaxle in spite of the mercenary. Now he just had an aching, throbbing hurt in his chest. He wished, for a moment, that he could transmit that feeling to Jarlaxle, make the mercenary understand…but then he brushed the thought away. What good would it do? "You told me that you would never disregard my opinion when it came to the jobs, and then you dictated to me," he said quietly. "It was a weak moment when I trusted you to listen, and you repaid me for it. You offer partnership when it is convenient, when it seems that your partner will listen to you, and then, when that no longer seems the case, you dissolve it."

He stared at the floor. "I know I shouldn't have expected anything better. I witnessed your change in behavior against Crenshinibon." He raised his eyes to Jarlaxle's. "Am I a fool? I know that is how you operate, how everyone does…I merely allowed myself to think it would be different." He said softly, "I thought I would make a better partner than that. You wouldn't have to discard me. We would discuss everything. Mutual benefit."

Suddenly, he flicked his hands, wanting nothing more than to cleanse himself of this matter. "Were those all lies? Every last one of them?"

Jarlaxle looked at him with a strange expression, an expression he didn't think he had ever seen the mercenary wear before. The mercenary was not angry, as Artemis expected Jarlaxle to be. "Oh, Artemis, no." He took a step towards the assassin. "Of course they were not. But I…I can be flawed, too. I am not a perfect person, who knows everything there is to know. I am still trying to become that person. In a few centuries, perhaps I will attain my dream…but perhaps not even then. Will you hate me? Will you choose to mistrust me because sometimes I fail to deliver?"

"No." Artemis turned away. "I shall mistrust you because I don't trust anyone."

Jarlaxle's hand was on his arm. "Artemis, please."

"Why does that disturb you?" Artemis asked, feeling his anger rising again. "Does Jarlaxle Baenre have someone he can trust? Or does he walk his path alone, as I walk mine?"

"I don't walk my path alone," Jarlaxle said. "Far from alone!"

"Don't you?" Artemis asked. "In spirit?"

Jarlaxle hesitated.

That was all the answer Artemis Entreri needed to know. "Think about it. I'll be in my room." He headed for the stairs, stopped, and glanced behind him. "Don't come in."

"But, Artemis, please…" Jarlaxle forlornly watched the assassin disappear. He couldn't chase after Artemis. That was the last thing the assassin wanted. He needed to give his friend some space.

Jarlaxle swallowed bitterly. His friend. If they were still friends. He clenched his hands. Why did he have to ruin everything?

To make matters worse, moments after Artemis' departure a blue screen appeared in the dining room. Kimmuriel stepped through, took one look at Jarlaxle's face, and smirked. "What's the matter?" the psionicist asked in honeyed tones. "Did you have a fight with your pet human?"

"Later, Kimmuriel." Jarlaxle glared at him. "Unless you want me to pull out your groin hairs one by one."

Kimmuriel raised an eyebrow, the smile gone as quickly as it had appeared. "That will not be necessary." He folded his arms coolly.

"Is it business?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I need you," Kimmuriel said flatly. "Do not think I would be here otherwise."

"Why?" Jarlaxle asked, just as bluntly. "I am busy."

"The city is in chaos," Kimmuriel said. "Lloth has stopped answering her prayers. To all."

"Then it is a fluctuation of magic again," Jarlaxle said. "Remember the last time. Just tell everybody to stop worrying."

"Magic works," Kimmuriel said. "Prayers to Lloth do not."

"What about prayers to other deities?" Jarlaxle asked, interested in spite of himself.

A smile twitched on Kimmuriel's face. "A feat no one has yet publicly tried, but doubtless effective. It is Lloth herself who has changed. It seems she is displeased with the city at large."

Jarlxle waved a hand dismissively and turned his back. "What do I care? I never worshipped the Spider Bitch. If she has a problem with the city, stay out of it. Don't back anyone. Is that the advice you needed?"

"No," Kimmuriel said. He snorted with exasperation. "Gromph wants to know if you will back his takeover of the city."

"Gromph –" Jarlaxle choked. "What? Is he mad?"

"Quite so," Kimmuriel said dryly. "I told him myself, but he called me an insignificant lackey and whistled for you…Captain."

Jarlaxle rubbed his chin. "He said you lack vision."

"Yes." Kimmuriel looked at Jarlaxle warily. "How did you know?"

"That is his chief complaint with most people," Jarlaxle said. "Provided they are not stupid or lackeys." He gave Kimmuriel a bright smile. "You have just made my night."

"How so?" Kimmuriel asked.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "Oh, by giving me something to do."

Kimmuriel clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Still battered from your unfortunate discussion with the human?"

Jarlaxle smiled sweetly. "Kimmuriel, dear lieutenant…Groin hairs, remember?"

Kimmuriel bowed courteously. "My condolences."


	18. Chapter 18: The Wrongness of the Air

Excerpt from R.A. Salvatore's _Siege of Darkness_:

"You sense it!" Gromph snapped. "There is something wrong about the very air we breathe!"

For centuries untold, Jarlaxle silently added, a notion he knew he would be wise to keep to himself. To Gromph he offered only, "The chapel was damaged."

The archmage nodded, his expression turning sour. The great domed chapel of House Baenre was the holiest place in the entire city, the ultimate shrine to Lloth. In perhaps the most terrible slap in the face the Spider Queen had ever experienced, the renegade Do'Urden and his friends had, upon their escape, dropped a stalactite from the cavern's roof that punctured the treasured dome like a gigantic spear.

"The Spider Queen is angered," Gromph remarked.

"I would be," Jarlaxle agreed.

Gromph snapped an angry glare over the smug mercenary. Not for any insult he had given Lloth, Jarlaxle understood, but simply because of his flippant attitude.

When that glare had no more effect than to bring a smile to Jarlaxle's lips, Gromph sprang from his chair and paced like a caged displacer beast. The zombie host, unthinking and purely programmed, rushed over, drinks in hand.

Gromph growled and held his palm upraised, a ball of flame suddenly appearing atop it. With his other hand Gromph placed something small and red – it looked like a scale –into the flame and began an ominous chant.

Jarlaxle watched patiently as Gromph played out his frustration, the mercenary preferring that the wizard aim that retort at the zombie and not at him.

A lick of flame shot out from Gromph's hand. Lazily, determinedly, like a snake that had already immobilized its prey with poison, the flame wound about the zombie, which, of course, neither moved nor complained. In mere seconds, the zombie was engulfed by this serpent of fire. When Gromph casually sat again, the burning thing followed its predetermined course back to stand impassively. It made it back to its station, but soon crumbled, one of its legs consumed.

"The smell…" Jarlaxle began, putting a hand over his nose.

"Is of power!" Gromph finished, his red eyes narrowing, the nostrils of his thin nose flaring. The wizard took a deep breath and basked in the stench.

"It is not Lloth who fosters the wrongness of the air," Jarlaxle said suddenly, wanting to steal the obviously frustrated wizard's bluster and be done with Gromph and out of this reeking place.

(46-47)

**Chapter 18**

The Wrongness of the Air

* * *

Kimmuriel transported Jarlaxle to the front door of the Archmage's tower. "Tell Gromph he is a fool," the psionicist said sourly.

"That is not very diplomatic," Jarlaxle said. He grinned and rubbed his chin. "I shall, however, probably end up telling him the same thing in so many words."

Kimmuriel snorted. "If you ask me, holding his position as Archmage for so many centuries has driven him insane." The psionicist disappeared through another one of his blue screens, probably returning back to the Bregan D'aerthe office to do paperwork.

"Undoubtedly," Jarlaxle murmured.

He walked up to the door to knock and found himself instantly transported into Gromph's office. He tried not to jerk with surprise at his new surroundings.

The Archmage stood three feet away, watching him with a mild expression.

Jarlaxle made a show of dusting himself off. "Gromph, don't do that." He unnecessarily adjusted his hat. "It can be very unsettling – and I doubt you want me to vomit on your carpet."

Gromph gave Jarlaxle a sarcastic bow. "Greetings, brother."

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "Since when have you wanted to acknowledge our brotherhood?"

"It is no random appellation," Gromph said. He steepled his fingers. "Since the events of the past two decades, you are the only Baenre male besides myself that was the fruit of Yvonnel's loins."

_Er, right. As if that matters to you._ With a jolt, Jarlaxle realized he was being buttered up. He passed a hand over his eyes. "Oh, gods, what is it? I'm not going to lead a rebellion with you."

"You have not yet listened to my logic," Gromph said with a deceptively charming smile.

_I have ever to listen to your 'logic'._ Jarlaxle sighed. "Very well. The sooner we begin, the sooner this is over. I have other business to attend to." He folded his arms. "I do not see why you could not discuss this with Captain Kimmuriel."

"For an apparently intelligent life form, he sports a singular –"

" – lack of vision," Jarlaxle finished in unison with him. He allowed himself to look unimpressed.

Gromph glanced at Jarlaxle's expression with irritation and took a small bauble from his belt pouch. "We shall talk here, in full secrecy."

Jarlaxle was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of a terrific stench. He swallowed. "Er…There is no offense in what I am saying, but surely that is not the same globe we entered the last time you wanted a private chat? I was forced to burn my clothing, dear Gromph. The smell would simply not come out."

Without a comment Gromph transported them into the miniature dimension.

Jarlaxle instinctively held his breath. He looked around. No trace of immolated zombie… When he cautiously allowed himself to breathe, he thankfully found the air clean.

Gromph gestured. "Have a seat."

"I am doing this against my better judgment," Jarlaxle said, sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs.

Gromph sat down across from him. "Listen."

Jarlaxle looked around. "I don't hear anything."

He was rewarded with a flash of irritation in Gromph's eyes. "I meant that you should listen to me."

Jarlaxle folded his hands across his stomach, leaning back. "Proceed."

"For twenty-eight days now the prayers of the priestesses have gone unanswered," Gromph said. "Sacrifices are returned with warnings from yolchols. Every House, of every caliber, is being affected in this way, simultaneously. At first the priestesses did not know, each House hiding it from the other. Now, however, the news has broken out over Menzoberranzan, and there is building a mass panic." He leaned forward. "We must strike now, while they are still weak. Soon, they will turn to alternative methods of power to keep their dominion over us."

"How?" Jarlaxle asked, keeping a neutral stance.

Gromph bared his teeth in an imitation grin. "I have students of every House. If I order them to, they will rebel…plied with modest rewards, of course. Promises of power in the new order."

"The new order…" Jarlaxle said slowly.

"Your mercenaries could ensure the extermination of the females," Gromph said. "You have mercenaries in every House, do you not? Secret agents? Their help would be most beneficial to my cause."

"What is your end goal?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Control of Menzoberranzan." Gromph's eyes flashed. "Converting my symbolic hold into true power. Exerting my influence on this city and its females. Claiming my birth right as supreme being over all others."

"And how long do you expect this new world order with you as king to last?" Jarlaxle asked dryly.

Gromph raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Will there have to be an end?"

Jarlaxle almost choked on the Archmage's arrogance. "May I explain a few problems with your plan?"

Gromph gestured graciously.

"First of all, there is no way you – or anyone else – will be able to guarantee that all the priestesses of Lloth are dead," Jarlaxle said. "The population of Menzoberranzan is sixty percent female. This is not a House war, in which case you can round up all the members of the House and count them. There are too many places to hide, too many routes of escape, and if even one female escapes your plan will fail."

"Why –"

Jarlaxle held up his hand. "I am coming to that later. Secondly, how do you propose that you keep order over all the inhabitants of Menzoberranzan? Without the priestesses, this place will become a true anarchy, in which case you will soon have no one to rule over. The rival Houses, freed from their traditional politics, will simply slaughter each other."

"I do not think so," Gromph said. "New alliances will be established. They shall learn their place in their new lives."

"Third," Jarlaxle said, "what is to prevent some other city from hearing of Menzoberranzan's weakened state and moving in to conquer us? Despite what you say, a city without its females is a weakened state. It will take time to fill the roles females once had."

"I can defend this city from invasion single-handedly," Gromph said.

"Perhaps," Jarlaxle said. "But you cannot defend against Lloth."

"Lloth," Gromph said, "no longer cares."

Jarlaxle raised an index finger. "For now. She is ever a being of chaos, dear brother. And believe me when I say that she is far cagier than you give her credit for."

"How so?"

"She could not be the goddess of drow if she were not also a goddess of intrigue," Jarlaxle said. "She will manipulate your desire for rebellion. Consider this sequence of events: Lloth grows weary of the state of order in Menzoberranzan. Her priestesses, once the spreaders of chaos, become a solidified hierarchy, handing down traditions through the ages until they become complacent, sedentary worshippers – the priestesses we know today. Far from being the progenitors of chaos, priestesses – under the leadership of our mother – do their best to keep things exactly the way they are. Communal sacrifices, raising children, and even rules for governing House fights. Chaos is slowly being stamped out in Menzoberranzan."

Gromph's scowl slowly deepened with every word Jarlaxle spoke.

Jarlaxle gestured. "So Lloth devises a solution. She hands down an edict sure to stir up chaos in her city: an impossible manhunt for Drizzt Do'Urden. She sits back and waits, knowing that her priestesses' efforts promise to amuse her. However, after the death of Yvonnel Baenre, the leader of this manhunt, the city goes more or less back to normal. The hierarchy rights itself. We all go on…exactly as we were before. Lloth can hardly believe her eyes. This cannot be, she thinks. As soon as she comprehends that the situation is in fact permanent, she sends out a wrathful edict: this city is damned. No sacrifices can appease her. The only thing she wants is chaos."

Jarlaxle nodded to Gromph. "What do you think you bring her? Chaos. Chaos, and a chance to punish her overly confident priestesses. You flip the world order in Menzoberranzan, killing and torturing any female you get your hands on. The priestesses all repent. Finally, Lloth's message gets through to them: nothing is safe, everything is chaos, and the only way to be on Lloth's side is to be the bringer of such chaos. Lloth sends the penitent priestesses visions, promising the return of their powers and her favor. The priestesses rise up, and slaughter all of the foolish males."

He laced his fingers together. "What do you think?"

"I couldn't care less," Gromph spat. "If one hour of freedom is all that is afforded me, I shall take it. If my place in history is to be the leader of a failed rebellion, executed for my troubles, then so be it – but I refuse to bow and scrape to these bitches any longer. No more! Not when every one of them is weaker than the amount of power I have in one finger. Not when given half the chance I could crush all of them, send them into oblivion." He narrowed his eyes. "What is more important, one hour of freedom or a lifetime of security, the so-called 'safety' of following their orders?"

"What is freedom?" Jarlaxle asked. "Is freedom playing into a goddess' hands? Or is freedom doing truly what you want to do, without anyone being able to punish you for it?"

"Then what do you suggest?" Gromph asked testily.

"There is no one to hold you here," Jarlaxle said. "The priestesses are powerless. Lloth has temporarily turned her back. You could escape. You could start your own city, somewhere else – the darkest reaches of the surface. Away from all of this. No more bowing and scraping to priestesses. No more Lloth! She would be unable to reach you."

Gromph sneered. "So you advocate running away? The same way you did? To 'start anew'? Why should I, when my empire is right here!"

"Do you want to build an empire for an hour or for a lifetime?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I doubt there is any truth to the things you say," Gromph said. "You always were an alarmist, little brother. During the Time of Troubles you thought the city would collapse. If it did not then, it can weather this."

"The city may," Jarlaxle said, "but the leader of a rebellion would not."

"You condemn me because you never had the guts!" Gromph spat. "If you truly intended to liberate this nation, you would have done so when you built your mercenaries. But instead, rather than take the final step and acquire true power, you became a little errand boy for all the priestesses."

"I survived," Jarlaxle said quietly.

"You cowered." Gromph laughed. "Even when you had practically escaped, you came back to Mother. You groveling whore! You spent your life doing whatever the Matrons say, and you expect me to do the same."

Jarlaxle knew it was a lost battle. He knew that Gromph would never listen to him. The times his brother had listened to him, actually listened, he could count on one hand. But he couldn't help feeling a small, despairing tug on his soul. Gromph was his only brother. There was a time when he had looked up to Gromph. No matter how much Gromph stepped on his fingers, that fact would never go away.

He sighed. He knew emotion was not the way to reach his brother. Gromph Baenre had ever been a rational male, possessed of and desiring from others only cool, uninhibited logic. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for one last effort. "Please, Gromph. Listen to me. You can't know the ultimate consequences of what you are planning. There is one thing you don't have."

Gromph raised an eyebrow.

"You don't know Lloth," Jarlaxle said. "You haven't met her. You don't know her the way I do. There is nothing to be had from this course of action but tragedy."

Gromph snapped his fingers. "That's right. It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?" He narrowed his eyes at Jarlaxle, slyly pleased. "What is this, now, five hundred and ninety-three? How much longer do you think you can last, anyway?" With self-satisfaction, he pounded the nails on the coffin. "I know that if I should be in your position, I would have the most terrible nightmares." He chuckled. "It's a wonder you can keep your charming good humor." He patted Jarlaxle on the shoulder. "That shows true strength of character."

Jarlaxle's shoulder burned at the uncharacteristic gesture. He felt drained of all blood. Somehow, with everything that had been taking place, he had managed to block out of his mind the fact that tomorrow was his birthday. The nightmares…He clenched his hands. He wanted to pound the sick pleasure out of Gromph with his bare fists. He knew it would do no good. He knew that true resolutions did not lie that way.

"I wish to go now," Jarlaxle said evenly.

"Well, then you must have made a decision," Gromph said. "What shall it be? There is an endless margin for gain, Jarlaxle…"

And an endless margin for error, Jarlaxle thought. He put on a smile. "I no longer care." He stood up. "As you say, I have moved on to the surface. What becomes of Menzoberranzan is of no interest to me. If Captain Kimmuriel has made the decision not aid you, that is good enough for me."

"You will rethink your decision when you no longer let your emotions cloud the way," Gromph said, rising as well. He smirked. "My only request is that you do tell me before you launch into it alone? I do want the takeover to work in concert. We must be orderly, mustn't we?"

That is precisely at the root of Menzoberranzan's problem. Jarlaxle tipped his hat to his older brother with an icy smile.

Gromph was good enough to let him go. Of course, Jarlaxle knew, his heart stinging, Gromph was never good enough to allow him to go before getting kicks in. This time, they proved to be fatal.

When he was returned to his cold Nesme abode, he almost started upstairs. Only his recollection of Artemis' expression and the assassin's demand for privacy kept Jarlaxle downstairs. He swallowed convulsively. Tomorrow was his birthday.

Instinctively, the mercenary knew he could never sleep this night. It was like falling asleep in front of the executioner's block. Very like.

On a whim, he summoned Kimmuriel. He had some errands to do tonight, now that he knew he wouldn't rest.

* * *

Gromph's words stirred up memories in him like muddy sediment. Crossing the thick, twisted fence around the compound through the gate, Jarlaxle was reminded of how he'd looked out at the fence from the inside with awe, hearing the tale of how Lloth had blessed the fence to catch any intruders by sticking them fast, like an enormous spider web.

He'd lain awake so many nights, imagining what it would be like to be such an intruder, pretended to himself to be stuck tight to his bed, helpless. He'd lay on his bed spread eagled, hardly breathing, morbidly entertaining himself with the idea that a powerful force held him motionless, that after a while a giant spider with the face of a beautiful woman came across the fence towards him to devour him.

Jarlaxle shook himself, taking a deep breath. He walked inside the family compound and casually asked a female soldier where the matron was, careful to avoid his other sisters. They would not be pleased with his appearance in this time of stress.

The soldier answered him with a roving eye. "She is in the chapel. She has hardly left since the disaster hit, sometimes taking her meals there."

Jarlaxle hid a wince. Of course Triel had to be in the chapel. He tipped his hat to the soldier and sauntered away, pretending to make a coy show for her sake.

The chapel was one place he had tried to avoid as much as possible. When he couldn't avoid being summoned there, he stayed but briefly, making an excuse to leave as soon as possible.

The grand chapel smelled of blood. Jarlaxle's gorge rose, his eye drawn unwillingly to the brazier on the altar, searching it for the blackened remains of a sacrificial heart. The soot griming the beautiful brazier was unrecognizable, but the sight of it and the smell of old blood made his pulse quicken. He became uncomfortably aware of the heart lying in his chest, and the ease with which a ceremonial dagger could slice it out, ribs and all.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light of dozens of scattered candles, he saw a dark figure crouching near the altar, back to him. He did not think his sister noted his presence yet. That left him another moment or two alone with his thoughts.

He had been back in this chapel few times indeed. Looking around, he realized that since his childhood it had grown even more opulent. Additional silk curtains adorned the walls. There were at least four more statues around the room. Semi-precious stones set in the floor in a mosaic had not been there, either. The floor, of course, he remembered especially, since it was the one thing he had always been allowed to look at.

Jarlaxle jumped at the sudden sound of footsteps echoing off the walls and silently cursed, head snapping up and searching for the sound.

Triel looked at him warily, standing now in front of the altar and facing him fully. She wore a belt of wands, potions, and scrolls, visibly armed to the teeth with magic not reliant on Lloth's favor.

Jarlaxle spread his hands in a placating gesture.

She only fractionally relaxed.

_You have never liked me,_ Jarlaxle thought. He knew he probably shouldn't be bothering, but he had the feeling that he was hopelessly mired in this situation no matter what he did. "You doubtless know what Gromph is planning."

Triel's only response was a raised eyebrow.

"I want to know what you are going to do about it," Jarlaxle said.

Triel pared her response down to one word. "Why?"

"Everything in Menzoberranzan concerns me," Jarlaxle said mildly.

"Not anymore," Triel said. "I had heard that when given the chance to return, you did not."

"What does the illustrious Matron Baenre care?" Jarlaxle asked, bowing low.

Triel scowled. She searched for mockery, and invariably found it. "You know as well as I do that there will only be one Matron Baenre for us."

_An acknowledgement of Mother's passing._ Jarlaxle felt his own eyebrows rising. _This is a calamitous event._ "What would she have done, do you think?" he asked softly.

Triel rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. "I do not know." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that important? Do you think I am doomed? Because I do not know what Mother would do?"

Jarlaxle looked at her helplessly. "It is indeed a desperate day when one such as Triel Baenre confides in a lowly mercenary such as myself."

She hissed. "Don't remind me."

Jarlaxle thought back to the day she healed his broken leg. She didn't heal it all the way, purposefully left painful twinges whenever he stepped…but she did heal it. And herself, not with any potions, either. He found himself chewing his lip. "This is a difficult situation."

He found that he felt more than slight discomfort at the thought of his eldest brother and his eldest sister killing each other. This surprised him, owing to the amount of bitterness he generally felt towards both…but he realized that they were all growing old, and they were the last of their kind – the eldest Baenres.

Triel snorted. "You have not the faintest idea."

Jarlaxle gave her a small smile. "At least there is one thing you can trust about me, Triel: when others plot within my hearing, that information is free to any that ask for it."

"Gromph included you in his confidences, then," Triel said dryly.

"To a point," Jarlaxle said. "I think he suspected I would tell you. He always did consider me soft-hearted."

"Soft-hearted?" Triel looked at him dubiously. "I think you are as heartless as a devil."

Jarlaxle grinned. "Thank you, dear sister." The odd, drow flattery made him wish it were true. Gromph always could read him better than Triel.

"Don't make me vomit," Triel said mildly. "I would sooner call myself the sister of an orc."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. They looked at each other, and the knowledge of the situation lay between them.

"Is that all?" Jarlaxle asked flippantly, breaking the tension. He turned to go and wiggled his fingers at her in a coquettish wave. "I must be going."

"One more thing," Triel said.

He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at her. The expression on her face made him turn around fully.

"One last thing," Triel said.

Jarlaxle stopped smiling.

She swallowed. "When the time comes…" Jarlaxle did not correct her. They both knew it was useless to deny the storm that was coming. "…I want you to be the one to do it."

Jarlaxle didn't have to ask, but he did. "Do what?"

She gave him a look full of pleading and defiance. "To see if you really are soft-hearted." She whirled away, crossing her arms. "I don't want Gromph to do it."

"I'll tell him," Jarlaxle said, the words almost getting stuck in his throat. "I'll tell him I want to."

She nodded, a figure of sadness and forlorn satisfaction.

* * *

Artemis awoke to find himself alone in the room. Judging from the angle of the sun, it was mid-afternoon, but he found that he didn't care. Too much happened last night, and when he remembered the paladin's interference, he found that he was all too willing to wash his hands of the giant business altogether. He did not enjoy fighting lumbering idiots ten times his size.

Scratching his head and subsequently finding out that his hair was a tangled mess, he sat on the edge of the bed and combed it straight. Then he tied it back, put on a clean shirt, and went downstairs.

Jarlaxle furthered his irritation by being at the kitchen table morosely nursing a cup of coffee.

"What?" Artemis asked with as much disinterest as possible.

"Oh, Artemis." Jarlaxle looked up at him with unusually soulful eyes. Artemis wanted to kick him. "I wish you would accept my most sincere apologies."

"Your most sincere apologies are still probably seventy-five percent a lie," Artemis retorted, "and I thought I told you I didn't want your apologies. I don't care whether you are sorry or not. The fact of the matter is what happened and I accept that. You told me what to do, I didn't listen, so I got hurt. End of story."

"It's not the end of the story," Jarlaxle protested, but Artemis waved him off and went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee from the magic cupboard.

When Artemis returned, he looked at Jarlaxle with active opposition and sat down at the table, sipping. The scorching hot liquid seared his tongue, and that was just how he wanted it. A burnt tongue would match his mood.

"What is on our agenda for the day?" the assassin asked.

"I do not know," Jarlaxle said. "Now that the giants have attacked and have been, for the moment, repelled, Nesmé's leaders must see to rebuilding the city. I can only imagine that we will be pressed into service as part of the gang." He sighed.

Artemis curled his lip. "I am not a work horse." He took another sip of savagely hot coffee. "I am an assassin. Let the masons work on the walls and the buildings that were destroyed. If they cannot find a useful task for my talents, I shall do nothing until the repairs are finished."

"Such an attitude will not find you in a position of popularity," Jarlaxle murmured.

"What do I care?" Artemis sneered. "I don't need friends. I don't even need colleagues. What I need are partners who will shut up."

Jarlaxle fell silent. That was uncharacteristic of the drow, and thus highly suspicious, but in his mood, Artemis Entreri didn't care. Jarlaxle's sudden unwillingness to argue was the only thing that put balm on his sore emotions right now.

Jarlaxle forced him to go to a public speech in the town square in spite of his objections. After an hour of listening to what was supposed to be a pep talk, Artemis felt so nauseated he wanted to fall on his sword.

They turned to go, only to be confronted by the companions who, by now, Artemis valued about as much as green slime. He narrowed his eyes at the three of them.

The paladin sank to one knee. "I owe you my life, Entreri," he said humbly.

Artemis took a step back. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You saved my life last night," Pelgerrin said. "I realized you were right – I was behaving in a way unbefitting a servant of the people. I faced my fears…and as a result, I have come to a new understanding with my god. I cannot allow my personal weakness to get in the way – and I owe this understanding all to you, Entreri."

"Are you mad?" Artemis demanded.

"Why would you ask such a thing of me?" Pelgerrin asked, sounding hurt.

"I did not 'save' you," Artemis said, putting the offending word in air quotes. "You pulled me out of position and a building almost crushed me. I should kill you where you stand."

Pelgerrin, it seemed, was struck speechless by this announcement. The paladin turned to Jarlaxle. His helm obscured his face, but his slumped shoulders told it all.

"Were it not for my timely intervention," Jarlaxle said, "my friend would indeed be dead." He raised an index finger. "However much he wants to deny it, this is evidence of his overarching heroism."

Artemis stared at Jarlaxle. "What are you saying?"

Jarlaxle smiled at the assassin. "I am saying, dear Artemis, that you are a hero. I truly feel this from the bottom of my heart."

"You're all insane!" Entreri stormed off. _I don't have to listen to this._ _If they want to stand around and insult me, I can go home._

* * *

Jarlaxle met up with him far too soon for the assassin's liking. The drow mercenary found Entreri pacing in the dining room.

"Why did you strike out at the paladin's gratitude?" Jarlaxle asked. "He was trying to thank you. You are a hero, you know."

"There are no such things as heroes," Artemis said.

"How do you know there aren't?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I know," Artemis said. "There are liars who claim to be heroes and people like me, who are honest, who claim nothing but their profession. I am an assassin, a mercenary. I kill for money, no matter what that means, and I do it without claiming my altruistic decency!"

Jarlaxle asked quietly, "Why do you think this does not qualify you to be a hero? Why must you always deny who you are, what you are capable of? Why does it seem to hurt you so much?"  
"Let me tell you something," Artemis said. He jabbed a finger at the drow. "I don't want you to tell me what to do anymore. I don't want you to tell me who to be. I am who I am." He swallowed. "And if that isn't good enough for you, you can get a different partner. Drizzt has friends, but he could always use another."

"I don't want to be partners with Drizzt," Jarlaxle said. "I want the partner I have."

Artemis looked away. "Then why are you always trying to change me?"

"Because I want you to be who you want to be," Jarlaxle said. "I want you to be happy."

"I can't." Artemis choked. "I can't be who I want to be. I can only be who I am. Who I want to be is irrelevant. It doesn't matter."

"Why not?" Jarlaxle asked. "Surely it ought to matter if you want to be someone other than who you are."

"That is not reality," Artemis said.

"You have overcome so many obstacles," Jarlaxle said. "I have seen you do this. I know you can do this once more. Why do you not reach out and simply take what you want? This is your life to live. I will support you, no matter what outlet you choose."

"You don't understand," Artemis said. "You could never understand. There is no outlet for how I feel."

"And how do you feel?" Jarlaxle asked softly.

Almost as if he hadn't heard the mercenary, Artemis continued, "I keep it all inside…until I must expel it, or be driven insane." He met Jarlaxle's gaze with burning eyes. "People die when I express myself." He clenched his hands. "These hands don't know how to do anything but express themselves in blood. I am a heartless, cold, unrestrained killer of things. People, monsters, animals. There is nothing I touch that doesn't die."

Jarlaxle took Artemis' hand and pressed the palm flat against his chest, over his heart. "I am not going to die because of your superstition. I see you as who you are." He shook his head. "Not a killer, to be used to remove vermin from the world. You are capable of so much more. You are capable of giving life, the way you gave life back to Pelgerrin Whitehorse. Do you see? It is possible for you."

Artemis snatched his hand away and turned his back on Jarlaxle. "You don't see me. You see who you wish I were. I can't be that person. I'm not…I don't possess those qualities."

"Alright," Jarlaxle said. "I won't push you any more."

Artemis turned on his heel and looked at Jarlaxle sharply, more shocked than he could say.

"I won't hurt you any more," Jarlaxle said. "I am sorry. I sometimes feel…carried away, by things…and ideas. I just wanted what was best for you."

"Forget it," Artemis said. He felt unspeakably frustrated by Jarlaxle's latest apology, angry…and hurt, for some reason he could not define. The hurt drove him to add his threat. "If you don't stop apologizing, I am going to cut out your tongue. And do not think I will not do it." He drew his knife. "I really don't possess the qualities you are looking for."

Jarlaxle stared at him. Then the drow mercenary, far from trying to argue with him or laugh his threat off, merely asked, "Are you finished the bedroom for the moment? I would like to use it, if you are."

Artemis gestured dismissively. "Go on. I don't need it." He wished he felt satisfaction instead of this slimy, cold feeling that encased him.

* * *

Somehow, the assassin expected Jarlaxle to come down from the bedroom and join him for dinner. When Jarlaxle didn't, and hadn't had lunch with him, either, he began to feel uncomfortable. All of his instincts warned him against going to the bedroom when Jarlaxle's absence indicated the drow wanted privacy, but he was disturbed by the break from their routine.

It somehow just didn't feel right to eat without Jarlaxle, and the annoyance pushed down his appetite.

Ignoring his own turn of isolating himself in the bedroom with ease, Artemis cursed Jarlaxle's childishness. _Just what I need in life. A petulant, sulky drow._

He marched upstairs, forming the idea to say whatever needed to be said to snap Jarlaxle out of sulking and into eating dinner with him, for the sake of routine if nothing else. Routines must be upheld. The only way the world kept working was that it was so routine for the sun to rise in the morning the gods never thought about putting a stop to it. There might be the odd eclipse, an all-powerful temper tantrum, but the sun would continue to rise into infinity.

Artemis nodded to himself as he climbed the stairs. Yes. The sooner Jarlaxle realized the inevitability of life, the sooner he could get his appetite back.

What he didn't expect was the sight that met him at the top of the stairs.

Jarlaxle sat backwards on their wooden chair with his hat on at the wrong angle. A bottle of wine was in one hand, a glass in the other.

"What are you doing?" Artemis asked, his voice and expression remaining carefully neutral.

Jarlaxle gave him a smile that was two-thirds vacant. "Celebrating." He placed the wine back on the nightstand, swaying in his chair as he did so.

Artemis studied him. "People who are in a celebratory mood do not isolate themselves with a bottle of wine."

Jarlaxle giggled. "How would you know? You never celebrate anything." It was obviously costing the mercenary a great deal to keep his speech from slurring. He picked out the words like a novice fumbling over the strings of a yarting.

Artemis shook his head, not taking any offense. "It is the behavior of someone in mourning." He narrowed his eyes and perched himself on the edge of Jarlaxle's bed, his seat barely touching and his posture slouched forward, hands on his knees. "What are you mourning, Jarlaxle Baenre?" He hoped the sudden use of Jarlaxle's surname would throw the mercenary off balance.

To his surprise and shock, apart from merely unbalancing the cagey mercenary, Jarlaxle let out a wide-eyed hiccup and allowed sudden tears to well up in his eyes. They glistened in the light of the oil lamp, unshed but completely obvious. .

"You care?" Jarlaxle asked. "Could you even care?"

"I don't know," Artemis said slowly, feeling uncomfortable, "what you are talking about."

"My family," Jarlaxle said. "Sacrificed me when I was a baby. Be-because it was a rite…rite…right thing to do." He was caught between a giggle and a hiccup at the word play. He poured himself another glass of wine. "It's my birthday. I'm mourning me."

Artemis stared at him. When the assassin finally spoke, Jarlaxle choked on his wine. "I don't understand. How could they do that?" He gestured. "I mean, you're still alive."

Jarlaxle wiped his mouth on his sleeve and set down his glass of wine. "I brought me back to life."

"You _what_?" This was the strangest story Artemis had ever heard.

"I asked Lloth to bring me back to life," Jarlaxle said. "She agreed, on the condition that I make myself a-amusing." He giggled, and the tears in his eyes danced, threatening to spill. . "She sends me dreams. To remind me." He picked up his glass and raised it in the air as if to make a toast before taking another drink.

Artemis briefly considered the idea that Jarlaxle was crazy. But no…Jarlaxle was far too grief stricken and far in his cups to be lying, and he trusted the mercenary's judgment for the reason that Jarlaxle was sound of mind. He replayed Jarlaxle's story in his head, trying to assimilate the facts, and realized it was the most horrible story he had ever heard. "They sacrificed you? Who…who…"

Jarlaxle laughed. "My mother. She gave birth to me, knowing I was to die, and my sister held the knife. You might have met her." He smiled. "She goes by the name Triel. She took a knife and carved my heart out…put it on a plate….burned it." He hiccupped. "I suppose I died instantly. But I saw it all. I was there. Hovering above my infant body…for a few seconds. M-My soul…I think. And I remember. Thanks to Lloth. They didn't…they…no one even cried. I didn't…no one seemed sad. I was just a piece of meat to them. A sacrifice. To ensure their further victory."

Artemis straightened and gently pulled the mercenary into his arms, hardly aware of what he was doing. He only knew that all the anger he'd felt was swept out of his body. In that moment, he forgave the mercenary. He saw all too clearly the ravages left by the wise and powerful male's birth, the flaws left indelibly on the mercenary's character, deeper than Jarlaxle could ever change, could ever comprehend. Everything he'd gone through at Jarlaxle's hands, all the pieces, fell into place. He'd finally found someone whose story was worse than his own.

Artemis came out of this reverie to find himself cradling the drow, gently rocking him back and forth. He realized that if anyone were to look in on them now, they would both look perfectly ridiculous: a wiry Calishite hardened in middle age tenderly embracing a drunken drow with a shaved head and a bare midriff. He didn't care. He patted the back of Jarlaxle's neck, holding the mercenary as if shielding him, and whispered into the mercenary's ear. "I forgive you."

Jarlaxle cried, and Artemis knew it wasn't all the wine.


	19. Chapter 19: This Long Awaited Affection

Chapter 19

**This Long Awaited Affection**

* * *

"I'm sorry," Jarlaxle whimpered into Artemis' shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"No, it's not."

Artemis pulled the drow off of him and held Jarlaxle at arm's length. "What? What isn't alright?"

Jarlaxle bawled and wiped in vain at his eyes with one clenched fist. "Here I am crying, and you want me to be strong –"

Artemis shook him. "No one can be strong all the time."

"But –"

"No one." Artemis looked him in the eye fiercely. "Think of me. How many times have you seen me at my worst?"

Jarlaxle bit his lip and tried to stop trembling. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "M-Many?"

The assassin nodded. "That's right. Too many to count. Now tell me how many times you mocked me."

Jarlaxle looked away. "Well, I – I tried to not –"

"Never," Artemis said. He pulled Jarlaxle close. "You never did. No matter how much pain I was in, you never mocked me. You only tried to help. That is what a friend does."

Jarlaxle wrapped his arms around Entreri and dug his fingers in. "Khal abbil…"

"What is it?"

"I can't be crying. It's weak. I'm so…"

"Ashamed," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle crumbled. He felt his facial muscles contract with pain. "Yes."

Artemis stroked the back of his head. "Who told you that?" The assassin almost sounded as if he were speaking to himself. "Who tells a child that crying is weak? Who takes away one of our most primal protections?"

"Primal? Protections?" Jarlaxle swallowed. "Crying doesn't protect anyone. It only gets one in trouble. It only calls attention to yourself."

"Crying is a child's way of saying he is hurt," Artemis said. "It is a call for parents like the mew of a cat or the howl of a dog."

Jarlaxle flinched. Artemis appeared angry.

"In a normal society, crying is the child's way of asking for protection when no one else is listening. One's parents are supposed to respond with love and caring – not shoving the child away in a closet while they conduct the business of their every day lives!" Artemis' voice rose until he was yelling.

Jarlaxle furrowed his brow. Closet? Where did that image come from? He felt he should be understanding Artemis better than he was. He felt the urge to clarify. He could remember well enough where he got the idea that crying only created negative attention. "Mady'zela…Mady'zela was like a nursemaid to me. A wean mother. We have wean mothers who take care of us for the first ten years of our lives. And then we…" He swallowed. "Then we earn the right to serve our families. Loyal males."

The anger faded from Artemis' expression. "Go on."

Jarlaxle squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't contain the pain. The pain was just as raw as always. "Mady…Mady told me that if she heard me crying…" He shook his head. He couldn't say the oft-repeated words. He didn't dare breathe them into existence, long after they had died. "She hated crying. When I would cry she would just stare at me until I wept myself into exhaustion and ask if I were finished. Then she would punish me."

Artemis raised an eyebrow, but all he said was, "Punish you?"

Jarlaxle searched his memory for an easy example. "Once she made me drink a bucket of floor soap and filthy water." He looked to Artemis for a reaction.

Artemis' expression was blank. "And." No judgment, only an even-handed prompt.

Jarlaxle looked away. He should have known that the assassin would sense more to the story. He wasn't guarding his emotions very well at the moment. And Artemis was a friend close enough to read him anyway. "I regurgitated it on the floor. And, she made me clean it up."

He found Artemis' warm, callused hand on his chin. The assassin applied gentle pressure. Jarlaxle looked at his friend.

"What happened then? How did you clean it up?"

Jarlaxle felt a flare of rusty anger. It took him a moment to identify that he was not angry with Artemis; rather, at his old wean mother. Indignation like acid in the stomach. He swallowed and looked away. "She made me clean it up." Jarlaxle glanced at Artemis and saw that the final piece of the story was necessary. He ground his teeth together. "With my tongue."

"How old?" Artemis' voice was soft, not judgmental still, even though the assassin forced the disgusting conclusion from him.

"Four."

"In human terms?"

Jarlaxle shrugged.

Artemis shook him. "Human. Terms."

Jarlaxle evinced a steely-eyed lack of concern, refusing to look Artemis in the eye. He barely noted that he'd managed to stop crying somewhere along the way in this discussion. "Two. Perhaps."

Artemis exhaled. A long, slow sound that Jarlaxle couldn't interpret. He took the chance of turning to face the assassin directly.

Artemis' expression made Jarlaxle take a step back. The mercenary stared. "Artemis…" Not pity. Not disgust. Not even contempt, though that was the emotion he would have guessed. No, instead, the assassin's expression was naked, apparent…empathy.

"My parents would beat me and shove me in the closet when I cried," Artemis said matter-of-factly. A smile of contempt twitched on the corner of his mouth. "My father, really." He glanced away. "Ex-father. Non-father." The assassin paused an extra beat. "False father."

He met Jarlaxle's eyes. "He had seven or eight years to do the most damage he could, though. Before I found out he wasn't really my father." He gave Jarlaxle a little nod. "You know what I mean. How old were you before you understood Mady'zela wasn't anyone who should be taking care of you? Five? Six?"

"Six hundred," Jarlaxle whispered.

They stared at each other.

Jarlaxle swallowed. "I always felt to blame. Always felt like I deserved it somehow. Through crying." His entire body twitched in pain as he said it. Artemis caught him and held him close. His throat was on fire, but he fought to get the words out. "Or needing. Needing this."

"What?"

Jarlaxle tightened his hands on Artemis' arms. "This. Needing this."

Artemis stared at him.

Jarlaxle patted the assassin's arms and stared into the man's eyes. "This. Needing _this_."

After a startled moment, Artemis relaxed, visibly and physically relaxed, and placed his hand on the back of Jarlaxle's head. "Everyone needs this sometimes, Jarlaxle. Not just you."

Jarlaxle quirked his eyebrow in a question.

Artemis looked uncomfortable, but he said it anyway. His mouth formed around the word awkwardly. "Affection."

Jarlaxle smiled and rested his head on Artemis' shoulder, leaning the weight of his body against the assassin's. This long awaited affection was new, something he was not used to yet, but he planned to enjoy it for as long as possible.

What might this sharing of affection lead to someday? Was this the path to what he'd wanted, sex with Artemis? Jarlaxle quickly reassessed his options. Could he have Artemis Entreri as a sexual partner? Was that road suddenly open?

The mercenary imagined what might happen if he used this avenue as a means to pursue Artemis sexually. Innocent comfort given at face value on a regular basis to ensure Artemis became comfortable with him, and then slowly seducing the assassin with more sexual touches. That was one plan. He could lead Artemis into it without giving away his agenda, allowing Artemis to discover what true pleasure was firsthand.

Artemis sighed, breaking the silence and disturbing Jarlaxle's thoughts. "Why do you push me? Why do you push me to be someone I'm not?"

Jarlaxle looked up at him. "I don't understand."

"I love you," Artemis said. "In this moment, I know that you won't attempt one of your ill-conceived jokes if I make that statement. I care about you more than I care about everyone else in the entire world, including myself. You know that, don't you? You know that's why you can count on me to back you up in one of your crazy schemes. Because I can't help myself." He frowned. "Don't abuse that. Don't ask me to be some kind of hero. Don't make me lower my standards of friendship to encompass people that might not deserve it – probably won't. Don't ask me to do that. I only care about you. Don't confuse that with an interest in humanity. Because I really don't care if anyone else goes to the Nine Hells."

The assassin lifted one hand and did what he almost did in Silverymoon, when he'd cornered Jarlaxle in an alley. He stroked Jarlaxle's cheek with one finger.

Jarlaxle stared at Entreri, stunned. The same look on the assassin's face as in Silverymoon. Only this time, Jarlaxle could read it. Artemis' intensely dark eyes bored into him. Not with lust, and not with hatred or anger. Jarlaxle was drunk, but not that compromised. The mercenary could see what was on Entreri's face just fine. Simple, pure, possessiveness.

Jarlaxle bit his lip. Seducing Artemis would be a mistake, a terrible mistake he could never live down. Unless he was prepared to castrate himself in order to prove sexual loyalty he didn't have, a relationship with Entreri was moot. A casual fling with the assassin was not possible.

Furthermore, what Artemis Entreri actually offered him was more valuable.

To be held, to be comforted…Jarlaxle didn't understand how this could be the same man he'd befriended, but he didn't question his good fortune. He wanted to live in this moment forever. Why hadn't he ever experienced this before? Where had this been hiding his entire life? If he'd known this feeling could exist, he would have searched for it long before. He didn't know how he could have lived without this feeling. How had he survived? It was suddenly unthinkable.

He had enjoyed Artemis Entreri's company, admired the assassin's skills, and coveted the man's body. Now everything he'd wanted paled in comparison with what Entreri willingly gave him. Jarlaxle realized he would do anything to keep Artemis' affection, even if it meant giving up on all of his previous dreams.

"You're shivering," Artemis said softly.

Jarlaxle almost started crying again. "You care – You care – I –"

Artemis' eyes bored into his. "All I have ever wanted is to be needed. Not for my skills, not for my ruthlessness, but for myself. Me." He gestured. "You gave me that. Don't you ever take that away."

Jarlaxle sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, khal abbil. I did not understand before."

Artemis studied him a moment, and then nodded. "It's alright. Don't make the same mistake again."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "I won't."

Artemis' expression softened, the lines around his eyes creased. He stroked Jarlaxle's head. "Everything is alright. Trust me."

The gentleness of the assassin's hand on the sensitive skin of Jarlaxle's scalp made him shiver. The sensation was foreign. A gentle touch, a gentle hand on his body outside of sex was beyond his perception of reality. Artemis' tenderness was definitely asexual, and it didn't cause a sexual reaction within his body, but it felt good nevertheless. And that would be enough for him. He could make his fantasies of pinning Artemis into a sexual position go away. He could make this, instead, be enough.

He didn't know how he could express his new resolution without giving away the misdeed he wanted to avoid. Part of him regretted never being able to tell Entreri how he'd yearned to touch the assassin's body. But he couldn't, could he? He had been entirely correct in assuming there was no way to proposition Entreri without hurting the man. "Artemis…I – I wish…"

Artemis sighed. "Don't try to talk. You're getting drunker by the minute." The assassin steered him towards his bed.

"I, I am not," Jarlaxle said.

To his astonishment, Artemis pushed down on his shoulders to make him sit down, and then made him shift further onto the bed so the assassin could sit down beside him. They sat in the middle of Jarlaxle's bed. Artemis laid his arm around the mercenary as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You were falling asleep on your feet," Artemis said.

Jarlaxle rested his head on Entreri's shoulder without a word. His eyelids fluttered in spite of his resolution not to sleep. He felt so safe. Peace of mind stole his resistance to Lloth's dreams. Not even the enchantments on his person afforded him this kind of security. He always lay awake and worried: What if something gets through? What if somehow I am outmaneuvered? Am I still safe?

"Artemis," he mumbled.

"It's alright. Go to sleep. I won't be going anywhere."

Jarlaxle grasped Entreri's sleeve. He wanted to take Artemis with him. If only he could. Artemis would protect him from what lay in wait for him. He knew Artemis could. At that moment, consciousness fell away from him, casting him into a black chasm.

* * *

He floated. The warm darkness vibrated with the rumble of a noise. Rhythmic, soothing, ever-present. The noise was his lullaby and his conversation. Here he never wanted for anything. All his needs were met, everything freely given. A world of peace and contentment.

An enormous hand seized him and cast him out. Cold slammed into him, a solid slab of pain. He gasped for breath and found his familiar air turned to something else. Something thick, chunky, clogging his nose and mouth. A chaotic din rose around him, ringing in his ears. All of a sudden, the resistance drained away like so much water. He sucked in air and screamed for help.

A force of unbelievable magnitude picked him up and wrapped some foreign material around him. The worst of the cold dimmed.

Jarlaxle squirmed. _Where am I? Why can't I see? Where is the voice that spoke to me before? _He opened his mouth and let out a whimper.

A horrible noise thunderclapped through his head. He cried out in pain. More sounds, coming from different locations, converged on him.

Then his consciousness split. Part of him could understand the noises. Part of him could not.

"What is his name, Mother?"

"I am tired. Do not pester me. Give me a moment with which to think."

"I can suggest a name. Let us get this over with."

"Silence!"

A lance of terror pierced the awakened Jarlaxle. He wanted to vomit. _No, no, don't. Please don't do this. Please let me go. Let this be different this time. Make it change. Stop!_

"I shall name him. He came from my womb. He is my child."

No one argued with the Matron.

Jarlaxle hovered around his mother's shoulder, blind but seeing. In her arms but by her side. _No, don't. I don't deserve this._ He tried to grasp her shoulder. He had all the solidity of a shade. _I don't want to die! _

"His name…is Jarlaxle," the Matron decreed with slow, deliberate enunciation. Jarlaxle watched her hand him off to his sister Triel. He trembled, unable to save himself. _Mother, please don't. I beg of you._

Triel placed his body on the altar, let the wrappings fall free, raised the dagger.

_I love you! Can't you see I love you? Why would you do this to me? _Jarlaxle yelled but his voice remained silent.

Triel said, "I sacrifice this child, Jarlaxle, to Lloth in the name of House Baenre. Accept our sacrifice and grant us honor!" She plunged the dagger home.

Jarlaxle felt inarticulate agony, felt blood bubbling up his throat and out of his mouth without tasting it. He sank to his knees on the chapel floor, vomiting blood, unable to cover the wound in his chest, unable to take his eyes away from his heart, burning in the brazier. The heart of an infant.

His tiny body lay still on the altar. His family watched his heart burn, turned towards the brazier without expression.

His heart turned to ash.

Jarlaxle blacked out.

* * *

Jarlaxle found himself standing in the throne room of Lloth's domain. He recognized this place instantly with a soul-deep knowledge he never possessed in his waking hours. In contrast to the last scene, he felt solid. Seeing himself from the outside as well as the inside, he noticed that he was dressed in his usual attire, including his wide-brimmed hat and changing spectrum cape.

Lloth, as beautiful as ever, lounged in her chair with one leg crossed over the other. She held a goblet of wine in one hand. It could easily have been mistaken for blood. "Well, Jarlaxle? Have you come to swear your fealty to me or reject my favor?" Her eyes burned with the power only possessed by gods and demons. They shifted through every imaginable color, from fiery purple to feline gold.

Yolchols stood stoically on either side of her throne. The melted-wax abominations didn't seem to care what his response was one way or the other.

Jarlaxle bowed to the goddess. "You know that our arrangement has always been founded on the basis of mutual benefit."

Lloth inclined her head. "You bring me chaos. I bring you immortality." She pouted. "Is that so hard to understand? Why must we go through this every year?" She ran a finger around the rim of her goblet.

Jarlaxle grinned. "Contingent, of course, on my good – or, rather, bad – behavior."

"Yes," Lloth said.

"What about Entreri?" Jarlaxle asked.

"What about him?" Lloth's sultry voice was on the verge of boredom. A dangerous sign.

"Is he allowed to be part of my life? May he ease my path without being seen as part of a violation of our agreement?" Jarlaxle asked.

"The human? I care not what you do with him," Lloth said. "He is your own business. If you see fit to keep company with him, then by all means, do so." She covered a yawn with her hand.

Jarlaxle swallowed nervously.

The goddess sat upright in her seat and narrowed her eyes at him. "Now swear, or get out."

"What happens if I do not?" Jarlaxle asked softly.

She looked at him incredulously. "Then your charmed life ends."

"Back to the Demonweb Pits? Or am I allowed to take my own chances in the World Above?"

Lloth snorted in disgust. "Leave me to seek your own life. See if I care."

Jarlaxle held up his hands. "Not so fast. Will you pursue me if I choose to leave?"

She curled her lip. "No. Why should I pursue one male when I have hundreds? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?"

"Then I choose to leave."

She stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"I am," Jarlaxle said.

"But you can't leave me." Lloth handed her goblet off to the nearest yolchol. Her handmaiden took it without comment. The goddess stood up. "You're too much fun." She held out her hand to Jarlaxle entreatingly. "What am I going to do without you?"

Jarlaxle inwardly sighed. He was afraid of this. "You'll find some other male to torment, some other youngling who thinks he needs you."

"No one I have is like you!"

Jarlaxle refrained from wincing. "What about Kimmuriel?"

"Kimmuriel?" Lloth protested. "But he is so boring." She rolled her eyes. "He rejects me." She wound her arms around herself in a seductive pose and gave Jarlaxle a wide-eyed stare. "He wants nothing to do with me."

"Crown another high priest," Jarlaxle suggested.

"You killed my Rai-guy," Lloth said. "How do I know you won't steal another one from me?" She shook her finger at him. "That was very bad of you when you took him from me in Ched Nasad."

Jarlaxle tilted his head coquettishly. "But you liked its chaos, didn't you?"

She giggled. "Yes. Oh, yes, they were mad with anarchy!"

"What about Gromph?" Jarlaxle asked.

Lloth narrowed her eyes at him. She walked slowly down the steps of the dais. "What about Gromph?"

"He seeks to be the next new power," Jarlaxle said. "You could give it to him."

Lloth frowned thoughtfully. "He is serving a purpose…but I doubt I want him to remain in Menzoberranzan. He insults Lloth."

Jarlaxle let the use of third person slide. "What could be more delicious than stealing the city back from him and demanding his fealty in return for his new toy?"

"How do I know he won't be boring?"

Jarlaxle gave her an innocent look. "You don't. That's the chaos of it."

Lloth looked torn but unconvinced. "Are you convinced there is no way to keep you here with me?"

Jarlaxle nodded. "Absolutely convinced. I need to go my own way. I may not live, but that is my own choice to make."

"Oh, you are being so boring!" Lloth threw up her hands.

"I am not," Jarlaxle retorted. "I want to keep my life from being boring, and the last thing holding me back from absolute chaos is my agreement with you."

Lloth looked stricken. Tears gathered in her eyes, but Jarlaxle doubted they were genuine. "That hurt."

Jarlaxle bowed. "My apologies." He straightened. "But you love me for being honest. It's so chaotic."

She sniffed. "I suppose."

"Let me go," Jarlaxle advised.

She crossed her arms.

He waited.

Finally, after three solid minutes of sulking, her shoulders sagged. "Fine. Go. But I can't guarantee I won't want you back. I like my toys to stay where I can see them."

"Don't worry about me," Jarlaxle said. He took off his hat and clasped it to his chest. "I will be bringing chaos to you until the end."

Lloth sighed.

Jarlaxle placed his hat atop his head. "Until next time."

"Next year I shall make your nightmare even worse," Lloth said. "You shall never forget it."

"That is predictable of you," Jarlaxle said, not without a smile.

She looked insulted, and then thoughtful.

* * *

Author's Note: This is **AU** as of _Servant of the Shard_. _War of the Spider Queen_ and the stories picking up with _Promise of the Witch King_ through RAS' current novel are **NOT CANON** in this fanfic.


	20. Chapter 20: Personal Revelations

**Chapter 20**

Personal Revelations

* * *

As soon as he could be sure Jarlaxle was asleep, Artemis laid the drow on the bed. He felt awkward, almost as if he were positioning a dead body. He was only trying to make Jarlaxle comfortable, but part of him cringed at the violation of touching his unconscious friend.

Entreri paused and studied the mercenary. Jarlaxle lay on his back on top of the covers, head resting against the pillow at an awkward angle. His hat was ajar, pinned sticking up, feather crimped between Jarlaxle's head and the pillow. The assassin swallowed and slowly removed the drow mercenary's hat, freeing the diatryma feather as gently as he could. The purple felt whispered under his fingertips with a forbidden intimacy.

Jarlaxle mumbled, rolled over towards Artemis, and lay still, his hand inches away from Artemis' knee.

Artemis held the hat in both hands and stared down at it. He should never have been allowed to touch this hat. In spite of many jokes, he never had before. Not like this. What did this hat mean to Jarlaxle? He'd been frustrated, annoyed, even claimed to be jealous of the attention reserved for this hat, an inanimate object…but he'd sensed the line and not crossed it. Jarlaxle's possessions were Jarlaxle's, and not to be trifled with. He expected the same respect in return.

Now, he'd broken the unspoken rule. Artemis' stomach clenched as if he had done something much worse. But to him it was the same. He may as well have stabbed Jarlaxle while the drow slumbered.

And yet…wasn't he looking after Jarlaxle? He'd only removed the drow's hat because it appeared to be getting in the way. His revelation that Jarlaxle's comfort was his responsibility bewildered him. He didn't know how to make people comfortable. He shouldn't be doing this.

In spite of the disrespect inherent in simply doing away with an object Jarlaxle prized, Artemis dropped the mercenary's hat on the floor. He didn't know where else to put it.

Now that he'd done that, what else did he dare to do? Remove Jarlaxle's eye-patch? Take off the drow's rings? Loosen the drow's belt? The possibilities were endless. It would be hours before Jarlaxle woke up, and Artemis didn't feel tired at all.

This situation reminded the assassin why he didn't want to explore his feelings. He frightened himself. While part of him wanted to run away, a much larger, more powerful part of himself wanted to see what he could get away with. The part of him that wanted to protect Jarlaxle overridden by his fascination with the drow mercenary.

Artemis slipped his fingers under the slim strap of Jarlaxle's eye-patch and slid it up over Jarlaxle's head. Jarlaxle flinched and whimpered. The assassin tore his gaze away from the crimson eye patch in his hands after a moment and looked at Jarlaxle's face. The sheer vulnerability of the drow's expression made him feel guilty.

Artemis dropped the eye-patch into his lap. He glanced down at Jarlaxle's hand and curled his fingers around the drow's. "I'm sorry." If Jarlaxle were awake to hear him, he never would have apologized.

The mercenary lay still for a few moments and then stirred. To Entreri's surprise, the drow spoke in his sleep. Jarlaxle's slurred mumble was filled with fear. "Ilhar, nau."

Artemis tried to be as comforting as possible. He didn't know if Jarlaxle would even notice, but he felt compelled to try. He squeezed the mercenary's hand. "It will all pass."

Jarlaxle suddenly breathed quick and shallow, as if he'd been kicked. "Shlu'ta dos naut kyorl Usstan c'hir dos? Ele? Ele orn'la dos xun nindol?"

Artemis took Jarlaxle into his arms. "It's alright. I'm here."

Jarlaxle fought him for a moment and then went slack.

Artemis could not speak Drow as fluently as Jarlaxle could, and didn't know most of the words. His friend spoke too quickly and with too thick an accent for him to be able to follow. From what he did understand, it sounded to him as though Jarlaxle were arguing. Jarlaxle had said: _Can't you see?_ And also: _Why? Why would you do this? _

The assassin flashed back to some of the nightmares he'd has as a child. He swallowed. _Hang on, Jarlaxle. Hang on. Your dream isn't real. You will wake up in time._

The mercenary's breathing deepened. Whatever happened, it was over. Jarlaxle seemed to fall into a deeper sleep.

Artemis sighed and laid Jarlaxle back down on the bed. _I suppose that was one of many nightmares for the night. _

He ran a hand through his hair. He was more shaken than he thought he'd be. Watching his friend – his partner – struggle with some invisible adversary, knowing that Jarlaxle couldn't be successful, not if the drow dreamt of childhood events…Knowing that no matter how he tried to intervene, he was useless against Jarlaxle's attackers…

Why was he taking advantage of Jarlaxle at a time like this? His curiosity was completely inappropriate. The assassin discarded Jarlaxle's eye-patch with disgust, dropping it on the floor next to the mercenary's hat.

His momentary lapse sickened him. How could he have become excited at Jarlaxle's predicament? That would be like someone else being aroused at the sight of him going through the nightmares he suffered after running away from home. And Jarlaxle trusted him. Jarlaxle had finally broken down and told him things the mercenary never wanted him to know. He'd tried to say all of the things he wished had been said to him when he was in agony, but in some elementary way, he'd still failed. Even if Jarlaxle was never going to know of his failure. He'd know. He'd know for the rest of his life that he'd almost –

_No. Not committed the same crime. Never. I forbid that. _So he wouldn't have raped Jarlaxle, or even molested the drow. But what in the Nine Hells did he think he was doing? He fantasized about stripping his friend.

Artemis buried his face in his hands and threw light into all the darkest corners of his mind, dragging his emotions out for scrutiny. He exhaled, letting out a shaky breath. _What I wanted…I wanted to strip away all of his garbage and see what he was underneath. Without anything to protect him. The vulnerable, mortal man. I wanted to strip away all the masks and see who he really is. Because I still don't know. _

He hadn't wanted anything sexual from Jarlaxle. But he had wanted to see Jarlaxle's vulnerability. Desperately wanted it. How could he justify such a want unless he were sick? Why should he want to see his friend, a powerful mercenary he respected, in a vulnerable position? To see Jarlaxle the way no one else could see the drow – not even the mercenary's frequent, ever-changing circle of lovers. To know Jarlaxle better. More deeply. To possess a more full knowledge than he would allow anyone else to. He would never let anyone get close enough.

Jarlaxle's confidence in him just added fuel to the fire. Acknowledgement in the form of Jarlaxle turning to him, confiding in him. Artemis Entreri knew he could be a very jealous man. One of many reasons why he had never chosen a lover. He knew he could only choose once, and if he were rejected, he would surely kill her. Despite being the object of his love.

He was close to being a friend who would kill all others attempting to take his place. And he couldn't bring himself to care. Jarlaxle deserved the best. The kind of friend only he could be. No one could be more loyal, no one more protective or more selfless. For his friends, for Jarlaxle, he could epitomize that ideal. Jarlaxle's paladin. If you could call someone with no dedication to a god and no interest in defending anyone other than one person a paladin.

In Jarlaxle, he had found the perfect friend: intelligent and powerful, with a nuanced view of the world as opposed to seeing the world as a good/evil duality, a person capable of personal kindnesses, and who, in spite of everything else on the list, still needed Artemis.

There was only one problem.

What he wanted in return was full disclosure. Tonight, the floodgates had opened between them. Artemis knew that had taken incredible strides towards being the kind of friends they both wanted from each other. But would it last? In the morning, when Jarlaxle woke up, would he take it all back? Would Jarlaxle want to go back to all of the mysteries and intrigue that characterized the drow mercenary in the past?

The friendship he wanted depended on Jarlaxle. He couldn't do a thing about it if Jarlaxle chose not to tell him things.

* * *

Jarlaxle woke up in a way he never had before: nestled in the warmth of someone's arms. His head rested on the assassin's shoulder, his cheek against Artemis' chest. The blanket fell across his back, covering his legs. He was spread out almost entirely over Artemis' body. His left arm was underneath him, tucked up against Artemis' side. His right arm was across Entreri's stomach, his right leg across Artemis' left. He couldn't imagine how he had ended up in such a position, or why this position felt luxuriously comfortable.

He also smelled some kind of perfume he had never noticed before, though the scent was naggingly familiar. It smelled like certain heavy-scented flowers that grew in the caves around Menzoberranzan. Heady, sweet, and musky. Jarlaxle tried to think of something more likely than someone spontaneously transporting his favorite flowers from the Underdark. The scent was almost like Waterdeep's famous mulled cider – or like Calimport's curry.

Jarlaxle smiled. _Ah, there. Artemis has probably eaten curry for breakfast. _He relaxed back against the assassin, tension loosening that he hadn't realized in the first place. Somewhat wakened by the mental exercise, he opened his eyes and looked up at the assassin. "Good morning."

Artemis' eyebrow twitched, raising in surprise the assassin quickly suppressed. "Good morning." The assassin's hair was tangled, his shirt rumpled. His eyes had a squinting, tired look.

"How did you sleep?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Sitting up."

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes and scooted back against Artemis, getting into a sitting position beside the assassin. It took more untangling than he thought. "I want you to get sleep. I never wanted you to stay up all night with me simply because I had nightmares to deal with."

"What happens when we leave this room?" Artemis asked suddenly. "Are we going to pretend like last night never happened?"

Jarlaxle hesitated, taken off guard by the curious question. He scanned Artemis' face, but the assassin was doing his best to be unreadable. "Am I going to act as though this never happened?"

"That was the question."

"Are you?"

Artemis stared at him incredulously. "Are you deaf?"

"No."

"Then answer the question!"

Jarlaxle gathered all the clues he could from Artemis' reaction and cautiously tested his initial response. "No…Are you? Are you going to pretend?"

Artemis looked away. Slowly, he shook his head. "No." He took a deep breath and exhaled it in a sigh. "No. That was not my intention."

Jarlaxle touched his arm. "Then why did you ask?"

Entreri shrugged, his expression hardening.

Jarlaxle stayed silent.

Artemis bowed his head. "I thought…I thought you might. Like to pretend. As if this never happened."

"But it's the best thing that has ever happened to me," Jarlaxle whispered.

Artemis turned his head to stare at the mercenary. "You truly believe that."

"Why shouldn't I?" Jarlaxle asked.

Artemis narrowed his eyes. "I didn't think –" He stopped himself. "Well, I guess I don't know anything about you. Do I?"

"Everything I told you last night was true," Jarlaxle said softly. "You know that it was. Everything I ever said I felt about you…that was true, as well."

An expression of discomfort crossed Entreri's face. He pushed the blanket away, glanced down at the floor, and leapt out of bed. He crouched down and came up with Jarlaxle's hat and eye-patch. "These were on the floor. I didn't want to step on them."

Jarlaxle took his belongings from the assassin. "That is more consideration than you've previously had for my poor hat." He hadn't noticed his eye-patch was gone until he was looking at it. He quickly slipped it back on and replaced his hat upon his head.

He climbed out of bed after Artemis. "Why would you remove my eye-patch?"

Artemis turned away. "I was trying to make you more comfortable."

"For future reference, I feel more comfortable with my eye-patch on," Jarlaxle said dryly. _I much suspect that you were being curious, not thoughtful. _

Artemis strode towards the stairs. "I'm getting breakfast."

"I thought you had breakfast," Jarlaxle said.

Artemis glanced at the mercenary over his shoulder. "What made you think that?"

Jarlaxle opened his mouth and then decided not to explain. "Never mind."

Artemis descended the stairs.

It hit Jarlaxle all at once. Unbidden, he knew what he should do about Gromph and Triel.

"I have business to attend to," Jarlaxle called. "I will be in Menzoberranzan."

"What?" Artemis yelled back. His voice echoed in the stairwell.

Jarlaxle walked to the landing and looked down.

Artemis looked as if he wanted to run up the stairs and strangle him.

"Don't worry," Jarlaxle said. "I will be back."

Artemis' mouth twisted with annoyance. "That doesn't explain why you are leaving."

"Because of your help, I now know what to do."

"About what?" Artemis snapped.

Jarlaxle blinked. He replayed last night's conversation in his mind. He'd meant to, but apparently he'd never gotten around to telling Artemis about Gromph and Triel. He thought for a moment about the best way to simplify his explanation. "My siblings are fighting at the moment. I am caught in the middle."

Artemis looked stunned at the disclosure. "What are you going to do?"

"I am not siding with either of them," Jarlaxle said. "At the same time, I want to give each what they desire."

"What is that?" Artemis asked.

Jarlaxle gave his friend a slight smile. "My brother wants power, and my sister wants escape."


	21. Chapter 21: Relative Morality

**Chapter 21**

Relative Morality

* * *

Jarlaxle visited Gromph at the Archmage's tower. On the way over, he noticed that no one was on the street. Even the market streets were empty. No vendors selling wares and no one buying. Walking through an empty version of his city gave Jarlaxle an uncustomary chill.

As before, they ended up in Gromph's own personal dimension. Even in a Lloth-free city, the Archmage was too paranoid to talk to him anywhere else. They sat down together in a matched pair of comfortable chairs, a low table situated between them.

"What pleasant business brings you and I together?" Gromph asked.

"Well, I've been thinking a great deal about your offer."

"Have you?"

Jarlaxle cleared his throat. "Indeed."

A zombie came by and served the Archmage a dark beverage. Gromph gestured. "Go on. You were just about to tell me whether or not you agree to this venture."

Jarlaxle raised an index finger. "I am not going to give you an answer without context. I know that you wish for a simple 'yes' or 'no', but I am not willing to commit myself without laying out the exact circumstances under which this cooperation will occur." He smirked. "Let us be honest: If you did not need me, I would not be here. Are we going to do things my way, or are we going to do things your way, foster miscommunication, and then have to deal with the consequences?"

Gromph grinned. "Any way is fine, as long as the answer is, 'yes'."

"Then you shall hereby be informed of my conditions," Jarlaxle said. Inwardly, he winced. Though he'd come with half an idea of what the conditions would be, his list was far from predetermined.

Gromph snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" He gestured. "Do continue, lest we be here all day."

Jarlaxle steepled his fingers. "First of all, I will not allow you to put my mercenaries in jeopardy."

Gromph's expression darkened.

"For one thing, they are not simply 'my' mercenaries anymore," Jarlaxle said. "You have asked the joint Captain of Bregan D'aerthe whether or not he wishes to be involved – a partner of equal strength to myself – and he has stated that he wishes not to be involved. Making this issue a point of contention between myself and the psionicist is only going to tear my troops apart."

The Archmage rolled his eyes. "Can't you settle this in some kind of clear, decisive manner? You have been leader of Bregan D'aerthe for more years than that rabid dog psionicist has been alive. You have control over the troops, not him."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "Their decision is clear. My soldiers are unwilling to fight for you."

"But I need them." Gromph pinned him with a stare. "You know how vital it is to strike precisely. The sacrificial dagger must be sharp to do its work."

Jarlaxle felt his gorge rise at the metaphor. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "One must also have a steady hand."

"Even the most feeble hand can accomplish the task when the blade is sharp enough." Gromph leaned back with a smirk. "Do not concern yourself with my abilities."

_It's not your abilities I'm worried about._ Jarlaxle frowned. "I must. What you're trying to destroy was once my army, you know."

"Come, come. This is a happy occasion," Gromph chided. "The males of the world are about to be free."

"Under your rulership," Jarlaxle said. "What makes you think that looks any different to them than the Matrons?"

Gromph gestured carelessly. A zombie walked across the room in response, vacantly playing lapdog.

Jarlaxle winced at the sight of the zombie waiter. "If you blow this one up, I swear to Lloth, Gromph –"

Gromph drained the last of the dark beverage in his glass and glanced over his shoulder at the zombie. "More."

The zombie nodded in semblance of a living being who could actually understand what Gromph was saying. Jarlaxle wondered sometimes if the zombies actually could understand the people speaking around them, and were too helpless or too addled to do anything about it.

Jarlaxle tore his gaze from the zombie and turned it on his brother. "What are you having?"

"Ulamba root coffee." He gave Jarlaxle an expectant look. "Would you care to imbibe of my offerings?"

"Oh, do you have any mulled terta juice?" Jarlaxle asked. He laced his fingers together and smiled ingratiatingly. "You know I love the stuff."

Gromph scowled.

Jarlaxle knew he had evaded the real question: Whether or not he was going to join Gromph's rebellion. He didn't have a strategy yet, only a vague idea of where to steer the conversation to get the results he desired. So he stalled.

Well, he did like mulled terta juice, but it was more important to buy time.

The terta was a sweet, fruity tasting mushroom that grew in certain places around the cavern that housed Menzoberranzan. The juice was one of Menzoberranzan's more popular exports to surrounding cities. Pressed raw the juice was poisonous, but if one boiled the fungus, the result was a sticky sweet nectar. Drow around Menzoberranzan prepared mulled terta juice by boiling down the mushrooms and then diluting the nectar with water, adding spices in the process.

Jalaxle punctured the silence. "Terta?" He gave his brother a hopeful look.

Gromph narrowed his eyes. After a moment's scrutiny, he assessed Jarlaxle's honest desire for juice and capitulated. He rubbed his chin. "Any terta juice…I believe so." He snapped his fingers and gave orders to his zombie.

The creature came back with Gromph's bitter brew and Jarlaxle's juice.

Jarlaxle took the juice from the zombie's tray and took in a drink in good faith that the Archmage hadn't simply warmed up raw juice and poisoned him. The gesture was a bold taunt that he was well aware how much his brother needed him. In other circumstances, he wouldn't have risked it. Gromph could be testy.

And his death would not have inconvenienced Gromph any, either. He could just see himself becoming another undead servant around Gromph's tower, offering people drinks and being set on fire at a moment's notice when Gromph became irritated by one of the guests. The mercenary suppressed a shudder.

Gromph raised an eyebrow. "Satisfied?"

"It's delicious." Jarlaxle raised his glass to the Archmage. "Thank you."

"Hmm." The sound denoted the Archmage's depressed acceptance that he had to deal with his little brother for a while longer.

They settled into their shared presence around the same table in the same sitting room with silence, each sipping his drink with a lack of eye contact.

Finally, Gromph said, "Have you made a decision yet?"

Jarlaxle raised his eyebrows, polite but coldly unmoved. "I am not the one that needs to make a decision, Gromph. I have told you what is necessary to gain my support, and you have waffled on the issue."

"If I can't have the support of your troops, what is the point?" Gromph snarled. He clenched his glass almost tight enough to break it.

Jarlaxle held his hands out palm up. "You have my support. Isn't that what you need me for?" He narrowed his eyes. "I am the master. They are the amateurs. I assure you that my assistance is equal to if not greater than the bulk of my mercenaries and spies. What you have to do is realize that the secret weapon you need to overthrow Lloth's city is right in front of you."

Gromph blinked, taken off guard.

Jarlaxle sat back and smiled with no small amount of self-satisfaction. It took a bold move indeed to stop the Archmage in his tracks. "Now, do you want me, or don't you?"

Gromph's jaw worked for a bit before he spoke. "I suppose…I do."

Jarlaxle gestured. "Thank you. Now we may continue."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Gromph asked dryly. "Before we get down to the business of actually conquering the city?"

Jarlaxle tapped his lower lip. "Well, as a matter of fact…"

The Archmage snorted. "Go on."

"I want to be a part of the planning process," Jarlaxle said.

Gromph furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"The strategy," Jarlaxle said impatiently. "You must have a strategy. I want to be there when you make plans and when you decide, 'This is what I am going to do'." He narrowed his eyes. "I am not your puppet. I am an equal partner in this, or else."

"For an equal share of the profits, I suppose."

Jarlaxle inclined his head, grinning. "I'll give you a discount. After all, we are brothers."

The look that crossed Gromph's face made him laugh. Gromph plainly stewed in the area between finding his younger brother's audacity so repugnant that he desired to slaughter the mercenary on the spot, and the kind of grudging respect that kept the Archmage's associates alive.

Jarlaxle sipped his mulled tertajuice. "Ah. You know, I miss this. I really do."

Gromph gave him a half-lidded look. "Terta juice?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "No, this, brother. The togetherness." He gestured.

"Do you," Gromph said dryly.

"Absolutely." Jarlaxle gave him a look of earnest enthusiasm. "It's like the old days. You, me, Triel, a happy little trio."

"Trio?"

"The three oldest Baenres," Jarlaxle said.

"Not counting –" Gromph stopped.

Jarlaxle snapped his fingers. "You're right. There were other people around us at one point, weren't there? In fact, there used to be a veritable crowd."

"It is still," Gromph said, "too crowded." He looked at Jarlaxle pointedly.

Jarlaxle drummed his fingers on his chair and looked away. "You're right. What are we going to do?"

Gromph raised his eyebrows. He looked at Jarlaxle with curiosity. Then, a smile dawned on his face. "We'll just have to make some room, won't we?"

Jarlaxle smiled in return. Gromph had taken the bait, just as he expected. "After all, only the truly skilled should survive. That is how Triel made it this far, is it not, dear brother?"

Gromph frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

Jarlaxle widened his eyes and shrugged. "Only that if Triel survives, we will have to run to the Nine Hells to escape her wrath."

"Then make certain of her demise," Gromph said.

Jarlaxle shook his head. He finally saw the plan that would benefit his siblings the most. He'd tried to think of some way to spare Triel, some way to take her with him, convince her to leave Lloth's clutches forever and try her luck in life on less poisoned ground. But he knew that wouldn't happen. Triel was her mother's daughter, bred through and through with the desire for the fruit only Lloth could provide her.

What Triel needed was a chance.

"How can I?" Jarlaxle asked. "How can I ever be sure? She is like a cockroach, brother. And if Lloth ever does return her favor, it will be Triel that she goes to first."

Gromph's frown deepened into a look of bitter hatred. "I could kill her a hundred times –"

"But that would never be as satisfying as her serving you," Jarlaxle said.

The Archmage stared at him in confusion. "Serve me? Triel? She would rather die."

"That's the point. Isn't it?"

Gromph hesitated, and then turned away, crossing one leg over the other. "No. It's too much trouble. I would rather simply kill her than foster a traitor in my house. Pragmatism outweighs any short-lived pleasure, I'm afraid. No matter how amusing it would be." He sighed.

"Perhaps you do not have the taste for revenge that I thought you did," Jarlaxle said in a tone of musing disappointment. "I thought it was a good plan. I was ready to help you on the condition that you…"

Gromph stared at him. "What?"

Jarlaxle shrugged and looked away. "That you spare Triel in order to give her a properly fitting punishment."

"Why do you care?" Gromph asked.

Jarlaxle gave his brother a carefully emotionless gaze. "I have always hated Triel the most."

Gromph snorted. "You would rather I fail. You take it as a personal insult that you didn't think of this little venture yourself. You've lost touch and you blame me."

Jarlaxle shrugged. "Whatever you say. If you don't want my help…"  
Gromph glared at him. "That's the price, is it? Triel's life?"

"Take it or leave it."

"You drive a hard bargain," Gromph snarled.

Jarlaxle smirked. "You knew that."

"You would sell Triel into slavery? To me?" The Archmage put up a front of disbelief.

"Are you trying to tell me that you actually hate our sister less than I do?" Jarlaxle asked. "How can that be? After Mother died, she had all the power, when in fact it should have been your turn. The power vacuum was there. She stole the throne from you."

Emotions warred on Gromph's face.

"Are you telling me that your powers of wizardry cannot keep her? That without Lloth's favor – No, even with Lloth's favor – you cannot overpower her?" Jarlaxle demanded.

"I can!"

Jarlaxle crossed his arms. "Then why won't you? Either you do not hate her, dear brother, or she has instilled you with fear."

"It is neither," Gromph declared.

"Think it over," Jarlaxle said softly. "Decide." He nodded and stood up. "Then call me again when you're ready." He turned away.

"I am ready now," Gromph said.

Jarlaxle looked at the Archmage over his shoulder. "Oh?"

Gromph ground out the words. "I'll meet your price."

Jarlaxle smiled to cover his quaking insides. If his sister were here, he had no doubt he would be accused of selling her out, of perpetrating the greatest cruelty of all. But he knew. He knew how Triel's mind worked. She would abuse the hospitality of anyone he introduced her to. That was a hardwired drow trait. He could not simply set her loose upon the Surface and expect something good to come of it. Nor could he in all likelihood convince her to leave in the first place.

Triel did not, in fact, really want his help. She wanted a chance to keep her empire. He was merely giving it to her. If she was as strong as he thought, she would endure Gromph's abuse and rise to the top, possibly taking the Archmage's power for herself. So he was not truly betraying her. On the other hand, he could not monitor his brother. Gromph could change his mind at any time and kill her. Jarlaxle knew this was the only reason Gromph agreed to his condition: it was unenforceable.

Still, he had given Triel a chance.

* * *

Jarlaxle made his way to Bregan D'aerthe, noting again the emptiness of the city. He picked out the steep path to the headquarters in the Clawrift. The need for surefootedness distracted him from some of his more troubling worries.

He let himself into the Captain's office with a nod to the soldiers guarding the door.

Kimmuriel glanced up, saw that it was Jarlaxle, and dropped the scroll he was reading on the desk. He stood up. "Well?"

Jarlaxle stood in the middle of the room. "I made an agreement with Gromph."

"What kind of agreement?" Kimmuriel demanded.

Jarlaxle gave the psionicist a look. "The kind of agreement where I save all of our asses."

Kimmuriel crossed his arms. "Such as?"

"I do the job."

"I thought you agreed that we should stay clear of any –"

Jarlaxle's expression hardened. "We are."

"Then why would you make us accountable for the Archmage's success?" The psionicist actually raised his voice at the mercenary, something he had never done before.

Jarlaxle clenched his hands. "Listen to me, Kimmuriel: I said 'I'. I do the job. You and the rest of the mercenaries pull out."

Kimmuriel stared at him. "What are you saying?"

Jarlaxle cut his hand across the air. "I'm saying, bring our agents home after I complete the job Gromph wanted to send us to do, and withdraw for good."

"Withdraw?" Kimmuriel said incredulously.

"You still have tracking devices on every one of our agents," Jarlaxle said.

Kimmuriel nodded.

"You know as well as I that it is easy to transport our males from one place to another as long as they wear those devices," Jarlaxle said. "Teleport them back here, and then move to a safe location."

Kimmuriel snorted. "A 'safe' location?"

"I am going to spell this out for you." Jarlaxle rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I didn't think I would have to. You're a smart male." He spread his hands. "This is what I am saying: Move out of Menzoberranzan. Things are about to get ugly."

"Out of Menzoberranzan? Where?" Kimmuriel's stoic mask couldn't quite cover his fear. He ran a hand through his long, silvery hair. "Where do you expect us to go?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "Anywhere. Anywhere is better than here."

Kimmuriel squared his shoulders. "You can't simply order us out into the wilderness, 'Captain'."

"Then why don't you stay?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Why do you say we should leave?"

"It's a fair warning," Jarlaxle said.

"What are you going to do?" Kimmuriel demanded.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "What I ought to do."

Kimmuriel narrowed his eyes. "Our name is still connected with yours. If you screw up, we'll catch the blame."

Jarlaxle turned away. "Then leave. That is what I said you should do, and for good reason. Kimmuriel, this place is going to fall straight into the Demonweb Pits. Soon, you won't have any reason to live here. This isn't your city any longer."

"But –"

Jarlaxle turned on his heel, facing the psionicist with a scowl. "I suggest you move within the day. Failing that, the day after. Three days is all you're likely to get, and that's if Lloth is feeling generous."

"Why not stay?" Kimmuriel crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. "If you are going to allow a revolution to happen, then perhaps we shall all be 'freed'."

Jarlaxle smiled at his lieutenant and asked silkily, "If everyone is free, then who is our clientele going to be?"

Kimmuriel took a step back. "We are going to lose the business?"

"If we stay," Jarlaxle said. "So don't stay." He shook his head and walked away.

* * *

His partner spontaneously combusted under hidden pressure, cried all over him, spent the night being tortured by an evil goddess, and went back to his home city first thing in the morning to settle some kind of familial dispute.

Artemis Entreri did the sensible thing. He ate breakfast and tried not to worry about it.

He hadn't been sitting down for very long when the doorbell rang. The doorbell was no ordinary doorbell. Of course, it was magic. A series of chimes plucked out a revoltingly joyful tune about five seconds long. He didn't know when Jarlaxle had time to install it, and he wanted to rip it out of the wall. Though he knew that probably wasn't even possible.

Artemis answered the door.

A woman stood on the doorstep. Even though she was wrapped in a fur cloak, with a scarf over her nose and mouth, the auburn curls that spilled out from underneath her cowl were unmistakable. She clasped her hands, clad in black, fur-trimmed gloves, over her bosom.

"Good morning," he said pointedly. As in, it was before you showed up.

"Good morning." Mila dipped her head. "May I come in? My name is Mila Yaruthil, I'm a –"

"I know," Artemis said.

" – friend of Jarlaxle's…" She trailed off. "You do?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think you're speaking to?"

She stared at him. "Well, I don't know."

Satisfied, Artemis nodded and backed up, allowing her room to come in. "Entreri."

She tilted her head, recognition sparking. "Jarlaxle's partner."

"That's right."

"Then you know Artemis."

"Intimately." He gestured.

She walked past him into the house. He shut the door. When he turned, he saw her standing in the middle of the dining room, looking around with aimless anxiety.

He cleared his throat.

She turned on her heel and faced him with wide eyes. "Is…Does Jarlaxle happen to be home?"

Artemis shook his head. "As a matter of fact, he is not."

She mulled that over. "Maybe that's just as well." She sighed. "Maybe I really wanted to talk to Artemis."

Artemis crossed his arms. "Leave a message."

She shook her head at him and unwound her scarf, pulling it away from her nose and mouth. Artemis had to admit she was well-formed. The co-conspirators in Jarlaxle's flings always were. "I shouldn't speak to her, you mean. Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I've come for nothing. Maybe I should have stayed home."

"You're the one that says so," Artemis pointed out. "I've just been standing here waiting for your message."

Mila looked at him uncertainly.

He stared back. "You sound like you're trying to talk yourself out of something."

She ran a hand through her hair, turned away for a moment, and then seemed to think better of it. "Where do you stand in all this?"

"'All this'? You mean the business between Artemis and Jarlaxle?"

"Yes," Mila said. "Where do you stand?"

"Elucidate."

She wrung her fingers. "Well, I mean…Do you think they ought to be friends, or do you think they just ought to admit there is mutual attraction on both sides?"

The assassin snorted. "For having never met Artemis, your claim is pretty bold."

"You haven't noticed it, then?" Mila gestured. "You've been around the both of them for a while, haven't you?"

"What does Jarlaxle say?" he asked dryly. _This should be good._

"He says you're all the best of friends," Mila said. "You, her, and Jarlaxle. You do practically everything together. You work together, fighting monsters – like these giants."

Artemis rolled his eyes. "If he says so, then it's probably true. Though he does tend to over-sentimentalize things a bit." _Not to mention overcomplicate and oversimplify – sometimes at the same time. _

"Then how would you tell it?" Mila crossed her arms over her chest.

He glanced at the ceiling. A force of habit when he thought the gods were messing with him. "I'd say that Artemis, Entreri, and Jarlaxle are friends. Entreri has more of a working relationship with the drow. Artemis…for Artemis, things are personal."

That was all true. At the stage when he and Jarlaxle met, he would not allow anyone to call him 'Artemis'. And at that stage, they had been simply business associates. He'd never been able to pin down the dynamic more than that, since their power in relation to each other always seemed to be changing. By the time he noticed a pattern, the relationship was already different. He was 'Artemis'. He was suddenly 'special'. A 'partner'. Artemis wondered when that changed. He prided himself on his memory, but he couldn't recall when he had stopped shutting Jarlaxle down and started letting the mercenary into his personal life.

"Then you do see it," Mila said, lighting up. "You do see the way he looks at her and the way she must be responding."

Artemis tried to smile and frown at the same time. He looked away. "I don't see anything…sexual, about their relationship."

"I'm not suggesting there is." She spread her hands in a remarkably Jarlaxle-like gesture. "I'm just saying there ought to be."

Artemis snorted. "And how would you know?"

She gave him a pitying look. "It's obvious that he is deeply in love with her."

"Obvious, eh?" He folded his arms. "And how have I missed this 'obvious' love?"

"To another woman, it is." She gave him a steely gaze. "The way he talks about her is the way I wish he would talk about me."

He stared. "It is?"

She tossed her head and looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind one gently pointed ear. "Every time we're together, he'll talk about her. I'm aware. I'm aware the only reason he sees me is because he wishes so desperately he could talk to her that he finds someone else to talk to. He is terrified of ruining things between himself and her. It's really sad."

Artemis snorted. "Jarlaxle, declaring those sorts of feelings? That would ruin everything. That would be strange, disgusting, and unwelcome. To say the least."

Mila's eyes widened. "Oh, but you can't say that she wouldn't love him in return for loving her!" She crossed her arms. "Women are so selfish. They adore that kind of thing."

"Artemis isn't –" He stopped himself. "Isn't…an ordinary woman. She does not have feelings for Jarlaxle in that way."

"How do you know?"

Artemis looked at her flatly. "Trust me."

"Have you asked her?" Mila asked.

Artemis didn't know what to say to the ridiculous question. "Why can't you take my word for it?"

"If you have asked her opinion and you know it, then I will," Mila said.

"How can I ask her when –" _When she doesn't exist, damn it! She's me!_ Artemis' jaw clenched.

"Then how do you know?" She scowled at him.

"I know!"

She sniffed. "Just like a man. You're willing to bet everything on your perception of things without being aware of how a woman, Artemis, really feels."

He growled. "If necessary, I will get her down here right now –"

" – and force her to say how much she doesn't value Jarlaxle's time?" Mila asked airily. "Really, Entreri, that would hardly impress me. You'd just coerce her to say what you want her to say because you're afraid of her having feelings for a drow."

Artemis crossed his arms to avoid doing something foolish. Like drawing sword and dagger and dissecting the woman on the spot. "I defend Jarlaxle from racist bigotry exactly like what you are accusing me of. I've seen him sleep with dozens of human women, and that's fine by me! I'm not interested!"

"Then why are you shouting?" Mila asked softly.

He froze. After a moment of working his jaw and finding no adequate words, he ground out, "I don't know. Why don't you tell me? You seem to have all the answers."

"You are afraid of her being tossed aside," Mila said. "It's natural."

Artemis realized that she was right. Every time Jarlaxle suddenly ignored every word he said in favor of pouring his attention out on some barmaid they'd never seen before, he did feel tossed aside. The entire time he'd been partners with Jarlaxle, he'd been suppressing feelings of anger and betrayal. He'd said to himself, _Can sex be that important? How can sex possibly be that important? _He'd wondered if there would ever come a day when Jarlaxle gave him undivided attention.

The assassin came back to the present and immediately noticed the dead silence. He took a deep breath. "Go on."

"You see Jarlaxle sleeping with a different woman each night and wonder if someday that is going to be Artemis. And if it is, you are willing to defend her by attacking your partner. Your best friend. Because you're gallant."

Artemis' mouth twisted. Gallant? _Gallantry is not in my nature._ _It's selfishness, more like. I just don't want Jarlaxle putting his hands all over me_. He realized then and there the trap of this conversation. He'd begun to think of himself as a sexual possibility, a person who could, in fact, be propositioned and therefore the necessity of turning people down. Whether the flirting came from Jarlaxle, or someone else. But he was not a sexual creature. He didn't have sexual desires. And he didn't, absolutely did not, elicit sexual feelings from other people.

"It's okay." Mila looked at him with sympathy he neither wanted nor deserved. "It will be different. Jarlaxle cares about Artemis. He cares about her deeply. He could never do anything to hurt her."

Artemis was taken aback by the utter sincerity of her claim. She nauseated him at the same time as he suddenly saw her skewed point of view. What if he were a woman? Would that change his relationship with Jarlaxle? Would there be sexual possibilities? "How do you know?"

"I can tell," Mila said softly.

He raked a hand through his hair. "No. I mean, how can you tell…So he has feelings for her. Can't those be feelings of friendship, instead of lust? I have never seen him approach her in an inappropriate way."

Mila let out a laugh. "I can tell that, too, Entreri. It hasn't been the first time that he fantasized about her at the same time he was making love to me."

The words shocked him numb. "No."

Mila raised her eyebrows. "What's so surprising about it? Fantasies are common. I've seen this kind of thing before. He wants what he can't have, so he substitutes. He can't help pretending, at least for a little while, that I really am Artemis." She shook her head. "I haven't minded it. I just wanted him to be happy."

"You're lying." At the same time, he flashed back to what he observed from his hiding place in her wardrobe.

"You have nothing to worry about," Mila said. "She is safe with him. She will always be safe with him."

Artemis' voice barely rose above a whisper. "Why?"

"Even though it meant denying himself what he really wanted, he would run to me instead of facing the fact of his attraction to her," Mila said. "Does that sound like the self-control of a molester or a playboy?"

Artemis pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. He wanted to believe her promise of safety. He did not want to believe the reason for Jarlaxle's visits to her, and did. He wanted to deny how much sense her version made in light of what he'd seen that night, and couldn't.

_Jarlaxle is attracted to me. Really, attracted to me._ He almost threw up in his mouth. His stomach tightened into a knot. _I couldn't have done a worse thing by comforting him. I put my hands all over him. And he was fighting the urge to…to…_

He crossed his arms. "I get the message. I'll make sure Artemis hears it."

"You're just going to warn her," Mila said softly.

"So what?" Artemis couldn't keep his voice under control. "Isn't that my right?"

"No," Mila said. "You have to let her make decisions for herself. It's her right."

He grabbed her, crossing the two steps to her in the blink of an eye. He brought her face within inches of his, so she could make no mistake. "My name…is _Artemis_ Entreri. Jarlaxle is my partner. And you've just told me he plans to bed me. So I think I will make my own decisions, thank you." He shoved her towards the door.

She ran. Wise choice. In another moment, he would have thought better of sparing her life. He slowly walked up to the gaping front door and closed it.

And he just stood there. On the surface, all he could feel was boiling rage. Underneath, stirring in the murky depths of his soul, he was aware of the sodden weight of despair. He felt like crawling upstairs, falling unconscious, and never waking up again.

Time passed. He was unaware of how quickly or slowly, but he felt minutes trickling by. All of a sudden, color flared back into the world. He shook his head, inhaling deeply, and looked around.

A dining room, a kitchen, a bleak gray stone house…a place he associated with his partnership with Jarlaxle.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now that his anger had passed and his despair lightened, sense reasserted itself. Jarlaxle would of course never do anything about his ill-advised urges to bed his assassin friend. Precisely why he had never heard anything about it was because Jarlaxle had the sense to know the feelings were inappropriate. The drow had no doubt correctly assumed that if Artemis heard about it, any detail, he would lose his temper and go on a murderous rampage.

Well. At least he had the self-control – though that was a new concept in this area – not to immediately go out and murder everyone who might have heard or sensed what was going on.

Why? Why was he disinclined to put Jarlaxle's head on a spike? He knew he wanted to. And yet, weighing his options, he found far better reasons to spare Jarlaxle's life and even forgive his partner. Artemis considered his frame of mind and realized last night's revelations had a lot to do with why he felt so forgiving today.

For one thing, he had almost violated Jarlaxle's rights. In a friendship, it seemed it was all too easy to commit some foolish crime against one another. Perhaps their clumsiness was merely a sign of their inexperience, but the reason for their need for caution was less important than to realize the delicacy of their new friendship and to defend it.

Part of defending their relationship meant forgiving Jarlaxle for…being attracted to him.

Artemis Entreri sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. The ultimate irony of gender relations stared him in the face. If Jarlaxle had been a woman, he would have been flattered at the news that Jarlaxle found him attractive. Now, the same news about the same person nearly caused him to put his fist through a wall and kill everything in sight. The irony of that was poignant because neither scenario ended in he and Jarlaxle having a relationship. It didn't matter whether Jarlaxle was male or female. Neither gender appealed to him. He was completely neutral. After the fumbled attempts in his young adulthood, sex was a game that he did not play.

Actually, when he thought about it, the one at the disadvantage in this situation was Jarlaxle. He couldn't think of a time when the mercenary had ever seemed sexually frustrated, for any reason. But this was one wall Jarlaxle couldn't climb.

Artemis smiled in spite of himself. _An itch he can't scratch must be driving him crazy. _

He suddenly realized that last night was the most intense test of Jarlaxle's loyalty. The mercenary had been impaired, inebriated physically and vulnerable emotionally, and for once, Artemis had opened himself up as a sympathetic shoulder to lean on. Even then, Jarlaxle had been a gentleman.

_ It was I who almost took advantage of him. _

What that said about their relative morality made him uncomfortable.


End file.
